The Gamer's Sidekick
by Ciel du Nord
Summary: Soma's not sure what had happened. One second, everybody was being gross and kissing in celebration of their win. The next, he was in his bedroom above his favorite restaurant. Also, he was tiny again. Tsukasa had a lot to explain.
1. Game Reset!

Silence filled the stadium before his fellow classmates exploded. Not literally, unluckily. "The Rebels won the Shokugeki?!"

Said Rebels were hugging their cage and crying a whole lot.

Soma covered his rattling ears. "They sure seem surprised."

Isshiki laughed and slapped his shoulder. "It's not everybody who has your steely stomach."

Anne, Miss your-diner-is-not-in-my-holy-book, cleared her voice with a pointed look at the rioting students. She winked at his team when the students settled down. "I, Anne, of the World Gourmet Organization hereby declare the Rebels faction's wi-"

The rest of her sentence was drowned by the students' roars. His team was acting weird again. Erina was smirking victoriously, Tadokoro was crying and smiling, Isshiki was definitely taking his clothes off and the rest were hugging and covering each other with their snot.

Soma glanced at his shokugeki opponent. Tsukasa stood, alone, hunched over his dish. It was a compilation of all that Soma had learnt put together in one plate. His father's teachings, Tadokoro's hospitality, Nakiri's classes (though he didn't remember most of them), master's training and Takumi's cheese. The last had been really nice. He was so going to meet Takumi's family to learn how they made it.

Maybe he would get some _casu marzu_ too. Feeding it to Nakiri with carrots and cuttlefish after boiling it in orange juice could be nice! Ideas, ideas...

"The depths of cooking are impenetrable." Tsukasa whispered as he looked up. Soma blinked. The older teen bent his waist in a bow. "It is my loss, Soma-kun."

Soma replicated his movement, only to hit his head against the counter and somehow hit Takumi's little brother with his left fist.

The half-Italian fell to his knees, hands guarding his jewels. "Soma, you bastard!" The downed teen shrilled. His brother patted his quivering shoulders. "Don't worry bro, I will continue the family's line."

Soma washed his hand. Sanity care was important for a chef.

"Polaris cook." The White Knight of the Table (or whatever his nickname was) suddenly stood so close his breath caressed Soma's standing hair.

Their hair touched and the soap sticking to Soma's hand made bubbles on the silver-haired boy's skin.

It seemed Tsukasa wanted to play. Eh, if his senpai wanted to try the name game, Soma would happily play along. "French infected senpai."

His senpai moved away with a chuckle and crooked smile. His tie had stopped defying gravity. His hair looked less shiny and knightly.

Tsukasa was not a sore loser. Soma knew the look of one. He saw one everytime he looked in a mirror. His old man had, after all, given him the nickname of 'Ultimate Sore Loser' for a reason. It wasn't a look of defeat either that adorned the first seat's too perfect face. It was... the look of an unhappy customer? Was his dish not up to Tsukasa's palate?

As Soma opened his mouth to ask what could be upgraded in his Yukihira-style omelette, Tsukasa's hand wandered up.

He eyed something. Soma turned his head to see what had attracted his attention. He only saw his father and Nakiri's father talking in a corner, water running out of their eyes. Sweat, Soma mused. Salty sweat mixed with snot. Takumi was still on the floor. Nakiri was stonily starring at her father while Alice was laughing. Yuki and Ibusaki were exchanging saliva. Marui's soul was dancing around.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Tsukasa's hand had moved strangely in the air, as if he had touched something.

Everything faded into nothingness.

 **[Game Reset]**

Soma's eyes snapped open.

No forceful kiss or dancing soul surrounded him, the only thing he could see was a wall and the drool stain on his pillow. It was wet and sticky against his cheek. He blinked. Soma crawled out of the burrito blanket he had been in to find himself in his bedroom. Kitchen knives in perfect state decorated his messy desk, ready to slice, stab, cut, chop, draw and carve. The poster about meat cuts was still half-hanging over them. The coincidendly well positioned mirror on the wall showed him the reflection of a boy. He had spiky red bed hair, yellow eyes, tiny hands and no scar on his left eyebrow.

Soma sagely decided to tuck himself back in his bed. Sleep helped growth, right? When he would wake up, his team would beat him and tell him to spot being so clumsy. Man, he had hit his head against that counter pretty hard to have hallucinations.

As he closed his eyes, the mouth-watering aroma of 'omelette; Yukihira style' wafted near his nose.

"Soma, breakfast's ready!"

His stomach growled, ready to digest delicious food. He pushed his blanket away. "Coming!"

His father was putting their first feast of the day on the table. Soma tilted his head and squinted. "You're less wrinkly, old man." He announced.

Joichiro halted his movements. He passed his hand on his face. "You sure?"

"Uh-huh." The boy nodded. Soma sat down and joined his hands to pronounce the words of this sacred moment. "Itadakimasu."

The first bite tasted like memories and awesomess. Just the way he remembered it to be.

His father laughed, round eyes and big grin in place. "That's because your dad is awesome!" He ruffled his son's hair. "One day, you might be as amazing as me."

Soma hummed, nibbling on his fork. It was true. He had more time to improve and make his customers happy now.

He could also find 'God's tongue' and force her to eat his new combos. Go see Tadokoro's ryokan and eat the vegetables she always low-key boasted about. Bother his master until he accepted to train him some more. Learn about fishes alongside Kurokiba. Do weird stuff with Alice. Win against his father. Find Tsukasa and ask what the hell was happening.

When Soma was done eating, his plate was sparkling white. He looked up from his plate. His father was washing his knifes, creating a new recipe under his breath. His white headband was laying on the counter, calling him.

"Old man, I want a cooking match!"

* * *

 _casu marzu: Italian cheese (the one with maggots!). Soma really like Nakiri :)_

 _Hello dear readers! This fic is nothing but comic relief for me and you. Prompt me with your ideas and adventures for our favorite mini chef (and the weird recipes he will concoct for his friends!)._

 _Gamer stories appear everywhere these days. I wanted to try something different. What if the gamer was not the main character? What if the main character had to adapt to a world where such a cheat exists? So here we are, reading Soma's story, the Gamer's sidekick._


	2. Soba's the best!

Soma watched as the money that had been tuckered away in his wallet disappeared inside the belly of a vending machine. It growled and thrummed before his ticket escaped unscathed, still hot to the touch.

The boy grinned. First step: accomplished! Now he only had to embark on his train, find Kinokuni's restaurant, force an entry and kidnap Isshiki. He would sure try their soba before snatching his bona fide naturist friend though.

Taking the train was easy and so, so slow. At least, he had the time to compile the following facts;

He was tiny and young again.

He clearly remembered his time at Totsuki. He re-did some of the dishes he made during his time there. They still tasted awesome. Plus, he checked if it was still standing and destroying cooks. It still existed. Nakiri weird family was still ruling it too.

His dad was still winning their matches.

None of his fellow cooks had contacted him.

He underlined the last fact twice. If he was tiny, they all were. They could have encountered problems when they had tried to reach him. Soma wasn't going to wait. He had to check if they remembered too. Isshiki was his closest option.

(He underlined fact number three thrice for good measure. He would beat that damned old man one day.)

Four unnamed and unimportant cities later, Soma was wandering in a small city that smelled like soba.

Also, all the restaurants of the main and busiest street sported names that rhymed with Kinokuni.

 _ **Loonie**_ _. Abysmal soba._

 _ **Toonie**_ _. Don't eat here if you're not desperate for death._

 _ **Sunni**_ _. Good soba until you compare it with Kinokuni's. Please don't._

Soma hummed their headline. They all seemed to have a deep love (hate) for Kinokuni's soba. His stomach growled. He patted the beast. _Soon._

"Kinokuni, Kinokuni, my heart and palate belong to youuuuu." Soma turned his head when he heard the strident yells of love. An old drunkard was dancing and singing in the middle of the busy street. Children were pointing at him and parents were kindly covering their pure eyes while they continued to watch.

A cook, dough in hands, left his restaurant and approached the old man singer. "Shut up, you drunk!" The cook bellowed, kneading his soba dough in the air.

The drunkard stopped dancing. He took a gulp from his magic jug of liquor that appeared at will. "Shut up yourself, you awful soba cook!"

The cook stopped kneading. Huh oh. Soma tried to leave his immediate vicinity. A chef that stopped cooking in the middle of the process was a mad one. People formed a circle around the "Are you sayin' me soba is badder than yours?"

The soon-to-be-dead drunkard threw his head back and laughed. "I'm not sayin' it, I'm yellin' it!"

"Asshole!" With that great war cry, the cook raised his dry soba dough in the air and used it as a club.

People howled for their champion and hooted against each foul move.

Soma tried to get out of the circle. Violence sure was unnecessary. They could have just done a shokugeki and be done with it. His eyes caught savage brutality. Had the drunk really bitten _there_? Oh Kami, he did. All the men squeezed their legs and made a quick prayer for their downed comrade.

Bells rang in the distance. Whispers and yells ran through the assembly. The circle parted to let a man garbed in white clothes appear. He marched toward the two fighters. His long and thick sleeves looked suspiciously like soba.

"Stop!" He kicked both men. "Fighting!"

He sneaked another few hits there and here until both men were off the ground and not trying to kill each other.

"He started it." The cook accused with a shrill voice.

The soba man gazed at the now clear-headed old man.

"I just said the truth!" The old man pleaded, hands high in the air.

The cook roared bad words, to which the old man answered in kind.

The soba man clapped once. "Peasants," he spat, "you are all vassals of the great Kinokuni's family. Kneel before real soba and stop being noisy." A bowl of steaming soba appeared in his hands. He flaunted it and raised it to the skies.

Everybody shouted in admiration. The old man started to tear up. "It's the real deal, the real deal I tell ya!"

Soma pushed through and finally got out of the circle. He looked back at the train station than at the kneeling people. That train's power sure was something. He had ended up on another planet without noticing.

He whistled a merry tune and continued to walk while people started to fight to eat the magic soba. Soba man was laughing maniacally in the background.

Finally, the boy arrived in front of his destination. Guards disguised as soba guarded the entrance.

"Do you have an appointment with the soba?"

Soma blinked. He hadn't thought it would that difficult to eat soba. People had to take _appointment_.

"We can't let a child enter the sanctity of this soba making restaurant!" Grumbles of ascent followed that announcement.

A tree turned around. It was actually a woman with a lot of make-up. "He never tasted the rightfulness of our sacred soba."

The soba men and women made a circle to discuss their problem. Soma bypassed them with one last wave while they wiggled their long white sleeves around in the heat of their discussion.

Soma entered the restaurant. It was grand and shiny and way too big. He got lost and passed through empty rooms decorated with soba artwork.

After running through too many rooms and hiding from too many soba men , Soma found himself in a garden. Isshiki was there, throwing grass in the pond for the koi fishes. Soma facepalmed. Of course his senpai would be in the garden.

The chesnut-haired boy's _clothed_ back was facing him. Nobody was around and the sun was setting.

"Hey." Soma called. Isshiki turned around to face Soma. Yup, he was perfectly clothed. Spooky. "Isshiki, why are you wearing clothes?"

Isshiki looked down at himself than at the strange and unknown boy with the yellow eyes. "Pardon me?"

Soma eyed their surroundings, searching the pink atrocity. "No, seriously, where's your pink apron? You're scaring me, dude."

"I'm not sure I understand." Isshiki tried. _What pink apron?_

"You don't plow your garden wearing a fundoshi*?" Soma took a step forward with each of his words. Still no pink apron or mentioned underwear in view.

Isshiki pulled a face. "Why would I do that?"

Horror slowly took hold of Soma's face and heart. "You don't waltz around naked or wearing a pink apron with the cute face of a bear printed on it?"

Isshiki shook his head and sagely decide to balk away from the boy who asked him if he liked dancing without any clothes on. The situation screamed of the so called stranger danger.

Soma clutched his heart. The kind senpai who protected his dorm and believed in his kouhai with all of heart did not exist anymore.

A malefic glint lit Soma's eyes. "There's only one way."

Isshiki took three steps back and opened his mouth to ask what the heck was going on. Soma took four steps forward. He grabbed fabric and pulled it down.

Isshiki felt one with nature for the first time. He felt free like he had never been before. Clothes were for stupid people. He would never wear anything ever again-

"Isshiki, let's practice together-" The rest of Kinokuni Nene's sentence was strangled in the back her throat. She blinked once. Her soul escaped from her mouth and looked as gobsmacked as her.

The blinded girl fell on the ground, dead or very close to that state.

Isshiki threw his shirt away and danced naked in the garden. Soma laughed and threw his shirt aside.

x

Yukihira Joichirou crossed his arms. "You used the grocery's money to do what?"

"I bought a ticket to K city to find Isshiki."

"And you've been friend with him for how long?"

Soma shrugged. "Today."

"Well. Next time, tell me when you will go in search of a friend. I'd cook food for them too."

"May I help you?"

Isshiki blinked, then looked at his knife. He threw aside his pants and shirt. He bounced around in his underpants before he grinned at Soma.

"It is easier to concentrate now."

Soma guffawed.

A lot of people were going to go after Soma's head for his crime. He had efficiently infected his dear senpai with naturism.

Women of all ages and horizons (and some men too) would protect him.

The fangirls approved of the glorious sight of Isshiki's rosy butt cheeks.

* * *

 _Fundoshi: Japanese underwear._

Isshiki is honestly one of my favorite characters of the series. I decided I wanted them to meet at Kinokuni because, at the same, I would give my reason why she despises Isshiki.

(Tell me if you found this chapter funny. I try to dwell in that genre, but I don't know if I'm good at it…)


	3. Game on!

**Game on**

Soma tossed around in his bed. It was as soft as ever. Only one thing bothered and prevented his sleepy self from sleeping. Namely, the opaque screen that appeared before him every time he stared long enough at the ceiling. It had started yesterday night and had never left since then. The small chef stared too often fixedly at things when he was thinking of a new recipe to not see it.

The boy glanced up during a few seconds. It appeared again. Damn. Not a hallucination then. Soma regretfully stopped blaming his father new vomit-inducing recipe.

He read the inscriptions on the screen out of sheer boredom and a pinch of curiosity.

 **Name** : ?&%?*&&%$?%$

 **Occupation** : The Gamer

 **Level** : 12

 **Designation** : $%&?(*

 **Strength** : %&?*

 **Wisdom** : %&?(*

 **Intelligence** : $?%*

 **Luck** : 7

 **Point** : 10

 **Skill Sets** :

 **Active** : Knife wielding, Clean Freak, Posh Acting, Dance, Baking, Food Science, Heat Control, Recipe Maker.

 **Passive** : Mysterious Atmosphere, Knight Aura, Perfect Taste, Will of the Chef.

Okay, they were all super weird. What the heck was Posh Acting? Erina's 'holier than thou' attitude towards people with red-hair? He scratched his cheek. _Google-sensei, I need your help._

The screen stayed in front of his eyes after all his thinking and grimacing. Soma squinted then shut his eyes. His half-lidded eye told him the plain screen was still hovering in the air.

Soma had read enough shonen manga to know that this was the proof he could be the protagonist of a mildly interesting story. He didn't care enough to really dwell on the subject. Cooking was more interesting than having 7 different love interests with impossible personalities or going on an adventure to save the universe.

Besides, he still had to beat his old man.

Still, his hand hovered near the floating thing. His fingertips met nothingness. What was the point of seeing the screen if he couldn't interact with it? Plus, most of the text was gibberish. What bad product placement.

He noticed the tiniest characters he had ever seen in his life under the last stat. They were absolutely unreadable.

Soma took a magnifying glass from the depths of his bed. There, all better.

 _For any problem or questions about the Game, call this number: XXX-XXX-XXXX_

How intriguing.

Soma pushed back his purple blanket. He closed his eyes and navigated through their tiny apartment, his nose and stomach following the scent of good food.

He opened them when he found himself on his stool. His old man was washing a pot, already wearing his uniform. 2 toasts with Shikuwasa jam awaited death on Soma's plate. He munched on them voraciously. Thinking always made him hungry.

The eldest Yukihira turned his head to watch the youngest eat. He grinned at his son's bed hair. The thing looked alive and kicking. "Slept well?"

Soma pushed half a toast into his mouth. It didn't quite fit. Damn baby mouth. "Mhm."

Joichirou dried the pot. "How's the jam? It's Ma'am Shiku who made it."

"Oh." That explained the sheer deliciousness of his breakfast. Ma'am Shiku didn't cook much, but damn, her jam skills were on point.

The boy gulped his orange juice. A morsel of bread was lingering in his throat. His father let go of the pot. He slowly joined his hands in a familiar stance and approached his son.

The boy choked on thin air. Oh heck no. No Heimlich maneuver that early in the morning. His arms did the eel dance (renamed Soba dance by Isshiki) to stop his father. _Evil technique! Useless dad! Stay away from my stomach!_

Oh so slowly, yet fast enough to not suffer under the rough hands of Yukihira Joichirou, the crusty piece of toast lodged in his throat went down. It met his fate and the other unfortunate aliments Soma ate. The strawberry-haired man-turned-child breathed slowly.

His dad arched his eyebrow. "Can you talk normally now?"

Soma pouted and shook his head. "Uh-uh."

Joichirou crossed his arms, a grin tugging his lips up. "The bread is a special recipe. I stole it from the baker and tweaked it a bit."

Soma snorted. "Dad, that's evil. The baker is not gonna sell us bread anymore."

"What he doesn't know can't bother him." His father informed him, settling down on his own stool with a good old cup of tea.

Soma gulped the last bite of his toast. He licked a drop of jam off his finger. "Hmm. Dad, can I use your phone?"

"Wash your plate first." Soma grumbled a 'yes' and did as asked.

His dad's phone was on the table when he finished. Joichirou was writing down stuff on a white piece of paper. Soma craned his neck and cursed his tiny body before he succeeded to see what it was about. Numbers. Ugh.

Soma turned his attention to the phone. He glanced at his dad before he left the kitchen. The older man was hunched over numbers, twirling his pen pensively.

In the relative protection of his room, the boy dialed the number he had seen on the weird, floating screen.

After three rings, a tired voice answered him. [The Game's moderator speaking, how may I help you?]

Soma clenched his fist. Answers at his fingertips, finally. "Hello. I've got some questions about the Game. I can see the status of the Gamer, but I can't change anything and some of them are unreadable."

The moderator, from what Soma could hear on his side, was typing on a keyboard rather harshly. [How strange. May I know your name?]

"Yukihira Soma." The boy answered honestly.

[Let me check.] Cue to harsher typing. Soma wanted to chide the man. People were supposed to use that kind of strength to open a durian or bat open a watermelon, not to write on a computer.

[…You are not a Gamer.] The moderator wheezed.

Yay, he wouldn't have to save the world. He could focus on bothering Nakiri Erina and molding his friends into crazy lunatics- great cooks!

"Cool. Soooo. Why can I see the floating thingy then?" Soma found it annoying. He tried punching the screen. His fist went through and hit the wall. Ow. He blew on his aching knuckles.

He couldn't bat the damn thing away from his view. How would he be able to concentrate well on cooking if it popped up all the time?

[You are the Gamer's Sidekick.]

"Do I have superpowers?" Flying could be nice. Being a super taster could be interesting. Cutting meat and veggies with his eyes would be awesome.

[No. Only the Gamer may use the Game.]

"Aww man. Not even a small superpower?" Soma whined. He would even settle for just knowing the ripeness of fruits.

[No.]

"A super tiny one only I would notice?" Like seeing people's thoughts. Nakiri's would most certainly be filled with food and the urge to call people less rich than her 'peasants'. Tadokoro's would be about her ryokan and ping pong. Isshiki's… nope, he wouldn't want to see those. He had to keep himself pure for his future wife!

[No.] The moderator sounded tired.

"Then why can I see the Gamer's stats? And why are some of them blurred?"

[That is the capacity of the Sidekick. You can follow the Gamer's progress. If you want to see the blurred stats, you need to be his equal or have better stats than him. You cannot see stats that are higher than your own.] The moderator typed some more after ending his little speech.

"That's it?" Soma asked when his interlocutor was done banging a keyboard. "I get to see a screen?"

[Yes. You are merely the Gamer's Sidekick. Your existence fills the background. Your character does not have any impact on the Gamer's story.] The moderator paused to let the information sink in. Soma stared at his door then at the phone. He pulled a face. He, a background character? Excuse me? His red hair proved his importance in the story.

"Say that again." The boy challenged.

The moderator relented with a sigh. [You are merely the Gamer's sidekick. Your existence serves the point of filling the background. Your character does not have any impact on the Gamer's story.]

Soma blinked. Okay, the moderator sounded like a broken record. Broken record couldn't be trusted. Yukihira Soma was the main character of his life. The Gamer could go suck somewhere else.

Cracking sounds came from the moderator's side. Soma frowned. Was that old guy eating chips? Snacking between meals was a really bad habit.

[The rest is up to you. Become his tower of strength or his stepping stone, if you're into that. You're a bit young to know you're an M though. Well, I won't critic your tastes.] The moderator snorted and whispered something along the lines of 'children do start young these days'.

Soma crunched his nose. The moderator was babbling about mysterious things that made his stomach queasy. He was no stepping stone to be stamped on. He was going to become a worthy chef. He was going to beat the Asura of the cooking world. He was not some small fry that a big fish would eat up easily.

Beside, The Gamer was a lame title that could only befall a boring person. Only awesome (or clinically insane) people could become great cook. "Who is the Gamer?"

The moderator stayed silent for a second.

[I cannot answer this question.] He informed Soma.

Soma pondered a bit before his eyes caught the passive skills of the Gamer. He blinked. Who had a knightly aura, except that guy? His hunch had been right though. The Gamer was a clinically and insanely boring person. "Does the Gamer's name starts with a T and ends with a Sukasa?"

[Boop. Boop. Boop.]

The call had disconnected. "Eh? Maybe the moderator went underground?"

x

Soma routinely called the Game's moderator. The man had sounded bored with his life during his first call. That was bad. Life's so interesting; being bored meant the moderator didn't enjoy life to its fullest. Since he couldn't whip up something good for the poor man, he would help him pass the time. It was Soma's good deed of the day. His father praised him for his good action.

So the youngest Yukihira called twice a day, once before going to school and once after dinner. It had the added effect of putting him in a wonderful mood.

[Stop bothering me, background cook number 134.]

"The name's Soma!" The boy chided. Man, that moderator really had a bad memory. Spinach could seriously help his case. "So, I was wondering. Do you think mackerel and mozzarella would go well together?" He checked the two items off his list. He had many more to say before he would run out. Perfect.

[You evil spawn.]

Soma tilted his head. "How did you know? My father's an asura though."

[Shut up.]

"What? You think covering the mackerel with raw bacon would be good? Man, that's a great idea!" Soma nodded sagely against the phone. He checked that meat off and awaited the explosion. The poor, poor moderator had a bad case of Alzheimer and a worse case of bad temper.

[I hate you. I hate you so much.]

Soma checked off two other aliments. "Blue cheese might also be a good option. I mean, it tastes great with mussels, why wouldn't it do the same with boiled mackerel wrapped in uncured bacon. A lick of maple syrup on top would be perfect."

[… devil child. Do you have an idea how disgusting it would taste! None of those mix well! And don't even get me started on blue cheese. How dare you even thing of wasting such a sacred food for your revolting recipe-]

"Where is Tsukasa-senpai right now?" Soma cut through the mad rambling. The moderator seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with cheese.

[He is grinding in a dungeon on the Indian coast, in Goa. I can taste the freaking mackerel and maple syrup in my mouth right now. Both of them. At the same time! I hate you and your evil recipes. Stop cooking at once. The world will be a better place without you!] The moderator wheezed and banged his fists on his keyboard. It made ominous sounds it wasn't supposed to make.

"Thanks a lot, moderator-san." Soma cackled in the midst of it all.

[What? I'm not done yet, you sixth-grade chef. Or have you noticed the errors of your way?]

The small boy stifled a snicker. "Not really. Bye bye."

[Wait a second. FUC-]

Soma hung up.

Now, where was that Gao stuff and how was he going to get there?

x

"Game on." The stats of the Gamer appeared in front of him in an instant. Nothing had changed, except the number of points. It had decreased.

"Game off." The screen disappeared. He could see clearly the things around him again.

What a neat little trick. He could see again. No more tackling people or being tackled by cars. Pestering the moderator had been a good idea after all. The poor guy wasn't such a bad person. Just a grouchy heart coupled with a gruyère mind. Plenty of holes for insanity.

Soma checked where was Gao. Too far away. Walking was bit out of the question. Swimming would be dangerous. Taking a plane would cost an arm. He could still board one in a box though-

"Soma." Joichirou knocked on his door. "Isshiki's on the phone."

Soma jumped from his bed and opened his door. Joichirou passed him the phone wordlessly. The boy glued his ear to the phone. [Hello, Yukihira-kun.]

Soma closed his door and fell on his bed. "Yo. What's up?"

[Do you wish to partake in a sleepover tonight? We can swim in my pool.] Isshiki asked anxiously.

Soma hummed. "Why not. Do I bring snacks?"

[No need. I found a new restaurant. Their desserts seem adequate for a midnight dip.] Isshiki fluttered, childish tone mixed with adult's words.

In mini-Isshiki's language, adequate meant awesome. Soma drooled. "Do they have chocolate mousse?"

[Yes.] Isshiki laughed at Soma's eager tone.

The cherry-haired boy scanned his room in search of his trunks. They were draped over his knives. "Count me in."

[Wonderful. My car is in front of your diner.]

The boys hung up. Soma wondered if Isshiki had a superpower as he pushed his pajamas in his bag. Did everybody have one beside him? First that mysterious tree woman, the Gamer and now Isshiki. After all, he knew Soma would accept before asking anything. That could be helpful in a restaurant. Isshiki could know what the clients wanted even before they put a foot inside.

Soma stroked his chin and decided to ask later. He passed his head through the gap of his door. "Dad! I'm gonna sleep at Isshiki's!"

"Sure! Don't eat too much." Joichirou stopped his documentary on Chinese food to say that. A second later, he was back to silently judging the chef's knife skills.

On his side, Soma shrugged and left the apartment. He jumped down the flight of stairs on the side of the building to end up in a shady allay. He marched four large steps to arrive in front of Isshiki's limo.

Men in black respectfully bowed and drove him away from his beloved diner. Soma soon found himself in a pool with Isshiki. The older boy was wearing a bright orange speedo. It complimented his skin tone.

The first thing the older boy did after giving stifling greetings in the presence of guards was to drape himself over Soma's shoulders to whine. "Nene-chan refuses to talk to me."

They were sitting on an inflatable mattress, drifting on calm waters and eating sweets. Soma ruffled soft hair. "There, there." He took a bite of his choco mousse. Delicious, as promised.

"Yukihira-kun," the wet boy pushed the desserts away from Soma's hungry hands, "I want to make soba with her again. She does not even at me. She won't tell me why either."

Soma caressed his nonexistent beard, deep in thought. How to get his mousse back? Tears shone on the corners of Isshiki's eyes. Soma stopped trying to take his dessert back. Isshiki was supposed to shine, but not like that.

The younger boy sighed. Isshiki hadn't many friends. Kinokuni and her soba gang were precious for him.

What worked for Soma when people didn't want anything to do with him? The fire-haired mini-chef grinned. His yellow eyes lit up with a somber glint. He patted Isshiki's hair one last time. "If you bother her every day, she will talk to you."

Isshiki straightened and looked Soma straight in the eye. "Is this true?"

"It worked for me." Soma deadpanned.

"Then I shall bother her everyday!" Isshiki put his fists on his naked hips. He deflated a second later. "How do I do that? She flees every time she sees me."

Soma shrugged and aimed for his mousse. He retook his delicacy successfully. "Tie her up."

A completely dry notepad and a pen appeared in Isshiki's hands. Soma certainly did not wonder where his older friend could have stored it. "And after?"

"Tickle her." Soma chomped on his fork.

Isshiki stopped scribbling Soma's directives down. "She's not ticklish."

"Force her to watch horror movies with you." Girls didn't like those.

"She likes this kind of things. I can't really watch those though." Isshiki shuddered. Soma corrected his former thought. Girls didn't like horror movies, except Kinokuni Nene, apparently.

Soma crossed his arms pensively. If she liked horror, then… "Force her to watch shoujo anime."

Isshiki finally lit up the proper way. "Like Sailor Moon?"

Soma's face twitched. "Yes." Whatever the heck that was.

The brown-haired naturist clasped Soma's shoulder happily. "Thank you for your guidance, my friend."

Soma pushed him off their makeshift boat.

His friend sputtered. He kicked the yellow mattress. Soma held on, but the orange tsunami named Isshiki Satoshi won against his best effort.

Thus started their water bending and fighting.

A long time later, when men wearing black trunks and sunglasses (during the night, no less) materialized themselves around the pool to clean their mess, the boys signed an imaginary truce. To be broken the next time they would be near a pool, of course.

An uneventful shower later, they made a pillow fortress. Soma sighed contentedly. The pillows under him were too comfy. In comparison, his bed felt like a brick one now.

Isshiki secured the last wall before he sat on his friend's belly. He tugged Yukihira's wild fiery locks. "Yukihira-kun, you seem bothered."

"By your weight." Soma deadpanned.

Isshiki flicked his forehead. Several times. With unnecessary strength. Ow. "Tell your senpai your problem. You will feel lighter afterwards, I promise."

Soma put his hands under his head. He sighed. "I need to be in Goa –that's a city in India- soon, but I don't know how to get there."

Isshiki blinked. "Why do you need to?"

Soma's grin barred his teeth. "To beat up a boring French cook."

"Oh." Isshiki nodded as if it made total sense. Then he laughed. "Today is your lucky day, my friend." Isshiki patted his own naked chest.

Soma stared. He was sure his senpai was fully clothed a second ago. Not only clad in a fundoshi. He decided to turn a blind eye to the nakedness.

"Why am I lucky?"

Isshiki raised his hand high in the air. "I won an all-paid vacation for two in a resort in Goa!"

"Ehhh." Soma clasped his friend's shoulder. "Lucky you! Bring back something good for us, ok?"

Isshiki shook his hand at Soma's denseness and lowered his hand. "Unluckily, I cannot go. You and your father can go on my stead."

Soma furrowed his eyebrows. India was a good place to learn about spices. Isshiki shouldn't let that chance fly away. "You sure?"

"Why, of course. Bring back something good, neh?" He shot back Soma's demand with a wink.

* * *

Thank you for reading! The Yukihira's family needs your best and worst recipes! (Pointer; imagine the worst things you can think off and mix them together.)

Now, food rambling!

Shikuwasa

These little fruits are native to Taiwan and Okinawa. They are used as a flavoring for many local dishes, and also lend themselves well to juices, jams, dressings, or as a garnish. The name comes from the Okinawan word for sour, ' _shii_ ', and food, ' _kwaasaa_ '.

Durian

It comes from Southeast Asia. It's a round fruit protected by a thick husk (with pointy thorns). Some people love it. Some hate it. Beware of the smell!

Spinach

Helps your memory!

Blue cheese and mussels

Blue cheese and mussels are a wonderful mix. Seriously. Soma was not lying. If you ever have the chance to travel on the northern coast of France (more specifically, Normandie and Bretagne), go into a restaurant (or even a small pub) and try it with a healthy dose of French fries. You won't regret it.

Maple syrup

Short notice: It tastes like victory and awesomess.

Long notice: Do you know what maple syrup is? It is the water (we call it _eau d'érable_ and we consider it different from the sap) that goes up in sugar maple trees in early spring. Those maple trees are mainly found in Canada, Québec-Ontario, and in the northeast of the USA.

To collect the water, it needs to be freezing cold during the night and over 0 Celcius during the day. These changes in temperature permit the flow and collect of the water.

Where I live, the maple syrup season is relatively short. Last year, it lasted a month and people treated like a miracle. A two weeks season is the average.

We French Canadian pierce the trunk of those trees to collect the future delicacy. Then we boil it. Then we use it everywhere. Honestly, _everywhere_. I can whip up an awesome filet mignon with maple syrup.

(Also, there's a black market for maple syrup. Yes. You read that.)

I'm gonna stop my food rambling here. Thank you for reading!


	4. Spice up Life!

Smells plagued him day and night.

The boy stifled his breathing as he covered his nose with a thick and somewhat clean piece of clothing (nothing was ever clean for his sense of smell). A second later, he was shoulders deep in trashes. In the vivid cloud of odors, he caught a whiff of seafood (almost eatable crabs, rotten fishes and fresh shrimps.).

He gulped the shrimps, grimaced at their fishy taste, took a stale half loaf of bread and skipped out of the alley where that restaurant threw their garbage and scraps. People smelling worse than he did were coming to eat their fill.

The boy turned left in another alley then stopped. A bad group was coming his way. He climbed a fence and ran through small gardens. The small beggar avoided a many hit in the behind thrown by angry grammas and found himself near the seaside.

He removed his nose-protection. He breathed with his mouth and gulped a mouthful of salty winds. A bite of bread made it tolerable. The bread hadn't any taste at all, beside the salty flavor of the sea. The soil-skinned child munched it all anyway as he walked. He reasoned it would occupy his stomach until his next snack. He sidestepped lumps of monkey's shit as he wandered close to the coast. The little fuckers didn't roam too close to the seaside. He would be able to eat in peace.

Finding food was not always easy. Adding the little muggers to the mix meant he could pass days without any real food.

His nose twitched. A whiff of steel and a glimpse of a khaki beret told him he might have to run again.

He stopped and tensed. The policeman glanced at him before continuing his patrol. The boy fought back a shudder and bounced away. The man hadn't smelled too bad, but he knew better than to just trust blindly only one of his senses.

Even if that one was out of the ordinary, as his gramma had once claimed. The boy couldn't quite decide if it was a good or a bad thing. He could sense the bad men coming and flee before they could their dirty hands (rubbing alcohol, metal, cigs, acrid tea) on him.

Yet, he had to cover his face to not suffocate on humid summer days, when the sun decided to be cruel. The slums had distinct smells floating around and encroaching themselves in the very skin of its inhabitants and he could see them all.

His own smell gagged him sometimes. No amount of water could make it disappear. ( _Dirty, dirty, dirty_. Something earthy and pungent sullied the water the people of the slums drank and washed themselves in. The weakest died. The strongest survived to smell another corpse.)

On days where men forgot about karma and the fact that they could end up in a lower station in their next life if they did too much evil, the boy would run to the spice market. It was a luxury, a pleasure of the senses. He would stand near, but not too close to the stales and breathe in, slowly. Specks of colors would blind his eyes and he was gone. In a world where his nose was overpowered, where the smell of the slums disappeared and each breath took him a step closer to something higher.

It would make him forget the fact that there was not enough food in his belly, too many men roaming around with empty wallets and full bottles and too many children left on the street and fuelled by nothing but fury.

The market soothed his gnawing hunger and biting anger.

Some kind hearted women and men sometimes gave him food. Other times, he fought the chickens to eat the semolina grains on the ground.

Sometimes, people would give a coin or two. With a proud chest, he would then buy cinnamon bark to be able to see colors, even in his plastic house. His money was clean and so would be his next life. The glimmer of paper money in loose hands attracted his eyes and disgusted his mind. He always looked away. He knew he wouldn't incur good karma in the next life if he stole. He would rather like to be part of a cast later. Just being a shoûdras sounded nice. Becoming a dog would be the worst of the worst. It could happen to him if he wasn't good.

So he was good.

People at the market knew him. They left him alone. He had all day to think about the pretty, pretty colors in his head. Once, one woman had tried to talk him into going to the Dalits' school. She had claimed that he would learn how to read, write, and a craft to fill his pockets and belly.

He listened, smiled, nodded and never went.

He preferred to be in the market, in the open world, than to listen to things that didn't make sense. Better himself? Live a better life? Leave the slums? Why?

Stories of people who had incurred bad karma in their last life (like him) but still thrived and flourished in this one floated in the conversations. He had heard of family and clans leaving the dirty waters of the slums for good.

There was hope, people said.

The boy saw Dalits live and die in poverty. He saw their children live in the dirt and never leave it. He saw family of 6 sisters and 8 brothers sleeping in a buddle on the pavement.

The boy didn't see hope.

He saw anger and happiness. He saw laughter and empty stomach. He saw children play in the waves and never forget their status, but learn to live with it. One couldn't change his or her birth, but one could still achieve something, be it good or bad.

In the end, he didn't share his thoughts. He stayed silent and thanked his benefactors for their kindness.

The boy thus lived one day at a time. He marveled at the colors and great bonfires of Holi. He danced with the waves. He strolled on the roof of the Portuguese houses foreigners had left behind a long time ago. He observed the flickering lights of his city, millions of electric stars that outshone the real ones. Life was, and that was that mattered.

x

In a hotel on the coast of Goa, Yukihira Soma had discovered he had quite the problem.

"This place is huge." Goa was a sprawling monster he wouldn't be able to conquer in 4 days. And when he asked for directions to the city's dungeon, people stared at him as if they had discovered the meaning of life. His English ought to be worse than he had thought.

Thus, Soma decided to call his most trusted collaborators to find a solution for his problem.

"What's the plan now, misters Soma?" Soma sat on the floor, arms crossed and staring at Glasses-Soma and Delinquent-Soma.

Glasses-Soma grinned. "Eat food, of course."

Delinquent-Soma bobbed his head excitedly before he frowned. "We have to find mini-Tsukasa too."

Soma crossed his arms and hummed thoughtfully. "That we do."

Glasses-Soma laughed intelligently. It sounded evil. "Dear partners, we can do both at the same time."

Delinquent-Soma swooned. "How intelligent!"

Soma nodded. "I agree with you, misters Soma. Let's go eat some food and find mini-Tsukasa!"

Thus ended the session where nothing was really decided except the importance of filling one's belly.

Soma patted his father's fluffy sleepy head, scribbled a brief message on a piece of paper, left it on his pillow and left their suite. His dad's snore bid him goodbye. After he exited the lobby of their five stars hotel, the Japanese boy decided to trust his nose to find his way through the city.

His nose led him to the coast and what looked like a fish market. A very huge one with interesting sanitary rules. Flies were buzzing around and kissing fishes. Dirty hands were handling goods carelessly. Ice melted and made smelly poodles on the ground.

Soma went from stall to stall, staring at the more exotic fishes he could find. They reminded him of Kurokiba, the awesome fish whisperer, which reminded him of Alice, one of the numerous crazy Nakiri that ran around the world. Kurokiba would have been thrilled to see so many fishes in the same place. Soma was pretty sure the dark haired cook would have challenged all the chefs there to a cutting contest just to prove who the best was.

Alice would have cheered in the background and done some incomprehensible things to the food just to boggle their mind.

Soma stopped walking. He rubbed his eyes and wished the sea's salt wouldn't get in his eyes. He shrugged, cleared his throat a few times and looked around. His nose had led him to an open space where a lovely cooking van had been parked. Promising smells escaped from it.

Soma grinned. Three minutes later and some fumbling with the weird language called English, he had a plastic bowl full of spicy chicken cafreal. He took a bite and prayed for Ishiki's wellbeing. His friend gave him a chance to travel, kick Tsukasa's butt and enjoy yuuuuuummy food. The Japanese mini-chef was practically on his way to sainthood. Plus, he already had a profound disdain for materialistic things like clothes.

It was a good thing he liked that pink apron though, otherwise Soma would have had to explain to him why cooking naked was not a good idea. Soma didn't want to break his friend's heart.

Soma took another bite of his Indian delicacy and marveled at the spices mix. Akira would have liked it very much. The Indian boy was definitely going to see him in the near future, Soma decided. As soon as he was back on Japanese soil, he would pay a visit to Jun Shiomi and her assistant.

Just to poke fun at that twitchy nose and Jun's clumsiness.

 _"_ Food, please." Soma stopped midbite. A boy his age had just appeared to his side, hands cupped towards him in a pleading manner.

Soma was not blind. He noticed the not so clean and ripped clothes. He saw the lack of fat on such a young body. He caught the white hair hidden under dirt and things the young cook would hesitate to touch outside of a kitchen. He had seen quite a number of beggars while he strolled around. The thought that he had walked through relatively rich neighborhoods made his stomach queasy.

His wallet was not heavy enough to calm all their demands and his hands were empty of things he could give them. He could only offer them his respect and feel not so very good about himself.

"Very hungry." The boy rubbed his tummy with sad green eyes.

Letting children go hungry was a capital crime for any chefs with a speck of self-respect. It was written in a book somewhere, Soma was sure of it. He handed him his snack. He would bother his old man for food later.

A delicate brown nose twitched as the boy accepted the cafreal _._ Soma understood.

White hair. Green eyes. Twitchy nose.

Akira.

An Akira too thin and dirty and wild and not a cook.

Soma followed suit when Akira finished his snack and left the open square. After a few steps, the Indian boy stopped and stared curiously at Soma.

Soma's smile trembled.

They repeated that charade of walking a bit just to stop and stare at each other a few times. Finally, the Indian boy went back to Soma's side as they tiptoed on the clear physical limits between rich and poor. Something like hope churned in Soma's chest. _Maybe he remembers…_

"You can not follow me." Hopes were dashed. The boy pronounced every word slowly so the foreigner would understand. Foreigners understood English, even if his tongue stumbled and spat words that weren't English anymore with his accent. He knew how to say the important words perfectly, though. 'Money or food, please. Very hungry.'

Soma pouted. "Why?"

The child shook his head and gnawed on his lips. He couldn't explain why it was dangerous to go there. His grasp on English was flimsy at best. And how could a rich foreigner know the danger of the slums? "Bad place. Not go."

Soma shook his head. "Bad place. Not go." He repeated not-Akira's words.

The small brown child blinked. One second later, the paprika-haired boy had caught his hand and was leading him on a mad run through the city. They flew through streets the white-haired boy avoided and marched through streets he had never put a foot in. Finally, the strange boy let him take a breather in front of a hotel. He knew very well he had no right to approach it. Beggars destroyed the atmosphere, people claimed. The police thought along the same vein. That was why he had only ever seen them from faraway.

They smelled like the chili-haired child did. Clean. Nice.

"Yukihira Soma!" A man appeared on the steps of the hotel and howled the saffron-haired boy's name.

Soma blanched. Uh oh. His father had yelled his entire name. That meant trouble. Also, the aura of bloodbath and murder enveloping his dad was a good indication of his mood. Soma lamented not getting anything for him. Yukihira Joichirou wasn't really himself when he was hungry.

The flour-haired boy tensed. The grip the other boy had on his hand was the only thing that kept him in place. The way the older man called his benefactor sounded like the growl of hungry dogs. He watched as the man and his child flailed around in a mad dance. The father seemed angry, in a reserved sense. He hadn't kicked his son's ass yet. They were exchanging words in a language that was definitely not English.

Somehow, their attention went back to him. Soma switched back to English and smiled brightly. "He is my friend."

Joichirou did a proper bow before he tucked tenderly his child between his elbow and his stomach. "Hello."

The little beggar awkwardly copied his movement. His benefactor was definitely chocking and turning blue under his father loving care.

"Akira, h-h-help." That sounded a lot like _help me,_ the boy mused. He was not sure he could do anything though. The man had some good muscles.

"Akira?" He asked. That wasn't his name.

Thanks to some weird snaky movements, Soma broke free from his father's oh so very gentle embrace. "Yup, you're Akira and I'm Soma."

An exasperated father sighed. "Have you even asked him if he had a name before?"

Soma shrugged.

Joichirou face palmed. He just knew it. He shouldn't have rocked Soma so close to the wall when he was a baby. "He is not a stray dog, don't give him a name."

The salt-haired child did not remember his parents well. Sometimes, when he could sniff cinnamon, a whiff of something sweet and loving would caress his hair. With cardamom, he could remember rough hands and coarse laughter. They had given him a name, once, before leaving for their next cycle of life. He didn't use it.

"I'm Akira." He said softly.

Soma laughed triumphantly. "See dad, we have to keep him." The boy switched back to Japanese.

Joichirou's mouth twitched. "Soma, you can't pick up kids like that."

Soma pinched his thigh. Tears pooled in his eyes. "He doesn't have a home."

Joichirou pointedly stared at the pinching fingers. For once, he tried to be the voice of reason. It demanded a great effort out of him. "We cannot kidnap him. He has life here. I'm sure he has people he doesn't want to leave here. We can help-"

"You monster!" Soma shrieked.

Joichirou arched his eyebrow and answered flatly. "I said no."

Soma understood words would get him nowhere because his father was clearly a heartless chef. So instead, he slammed his head against his father's non-existent flab. A rough hand stopped him and held his skull like an egg ready to be cracked open. The boy resorted to whining. "Dad, we have to keep him."

"No."

Soma switched his method again. He stopped trying to scratch off his father's face. "Akira's the best nose of Asia." He claimed with a grin.

One thing all Yukihira had in common was their passion (clinical obsession) for cooking. His father would cave in if Akira proved himself. The elder of the mad chefs eyed Akira critically.

Akira stared back, bemused. The duo scared him a bit, honestly. They went through all sort of emotions in a short time and now a weird glint was lighting their eyes. A minute ago, they were fighting for their life and now they seemed to plot world's domination in a strange language.

A somber grin lit Joichirou's face. "Best nose of Asia, you say. Very well, let's see."

In one minute, the old man found a translator for Akira (just a poor passerby who knew enough English to understand what was going on. Nobody ever said no to Joichirou's asura glare). They relocated to the kitchen (again, nobody ever said no to him. The man was scary!) and set a table. Akira sat down on a plastic chair next to an excited Soma. Then a magic box of spices appeared in Joichirou's hands.

Soma squinted. The box was huge. His father's pocket, not so much. _What the heck dad? Am I the only who doesn't have a superpower? This is plain discrimination._

"Let's start with an easy one." Joichirou placed a small container in front of Akira.

The translator and the kitchen staff peered down at the poor boy. He didn't even sniff before giving it back with a spice and smile on his lips. Anise.

Akira got a pista barfi for his good answer. Another spice was put under his nose. It made his nose itch and the sour taste of lemons entered his mind. Sumac.

Soma clapped his hands with a lopsided smile and picked the next spice. Cardamom.

Then Soma's father took out mixes. Akira never hesitated under the now serious glint lighting molten gold eyes. When he didn't know the name, he would point at the cupboard where the cooks had hidden them.

In the end, he got a plate full of pista barfi and one Bal Mithai. It smelled nice, like no other Bal Mithai he had been able to taste before. Admittedly, it was not rotting or half-eaten by insects and others living things. The perfume of the sumac disappeared, replaced by the over-powering fragrance of sugar and the subtle aroma of ground pistachios. Akira lost himself in the flavor and the colors.

Soma picked the sugar balls coating the delicacy to crunch on them happily. The kitchen staff was staring at them like they were alien and the translator finally got his freedom back.

When he finished his dessert, he glanced at his old man. "What do you think, dad?"

Joichirou finished putting away his precious spices before he glanced at Akira. "Let's give him a shower."

A kind of shocked Akira was pushed inside a fancy bathroom. Nobody had thought to explain to him that he was, in fact, kidnapped by mad cooks. He just thought he would leave after proving he had a good nose and eating his fill. Soma shamelessly got naked and took a bath with him.

He left after making sure Akira's hair was completely white. His father was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

They stared at each other, arms crossed.

Joichirou said calmly. "You shouldn't have gone out alone."

Soma bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to say he wouldn't have met Akira if he hadn't. He wanted to say he was old enough to go out and do his stuff on his own. But… but. His current body was eight years old. Yes, it had been stupid and dangerous to go out alone in a city he didn't know, in a country he didn't know. Even stupider to make his father worry. His father couldn't know the truth. "Sorry."

His father stared down at him some more before he ruffled his only son's hair. "Wake me up next time."

Soma nodded. "Ok. Dad?"

"Yeah, son?"

"Do you think Akira would make a good nudist? I think Isshiki needs more friends." The soba gang were good friends, Isshiki claimed. Soma didn't trust their gluten-free dish or their suspicious clothing.

Joichirou covered his eyes with his hand and sighed. Deeply. "No, I don't think so."

Soma tilted his head. "Why?"

The elder Yukihira let his hand slid to his mouth. "Doesn't have the good vibe." Was his muffled reply.

"Oh." Soma reveled in his father's wisdom. That made sense. He couldn't really imagine Akira prancing around in a pink apron. His friend had the vibe of someone who would plot someone's untimely spicy death. His plan would have at least one hundred spoonfuls of cinnamon and a very good spices bomb.

"Soma." The elder saffron-haired called his son softly.

The child looked up. "It is I."

"Stop hoarding kids. We don't have enough rooms at home."

Soma crossed his fingers and nodded. He wouldn't promise anything. If Akira had that kind of childhood, he had to hurry up and find his other comrades. Who knew what kind of untold tragedies they all lived through?

A strange thought wandered in his skull at that moment. All of his friends seemed to have protagonist's back story… Soma grabbed a strand of his hair and stared hard at it. Yup. Still flashy red. He was still the main character of his story.

As for Soma's quest to kick a certain chef's ass, it was forgotten. The poor mini-cook caught a mean case of traveler's diarrhea and was bedridden during the rest of his vacation. From his sick bed, Soma swore he would take his revenge on Tsukasa. Obviously, it was the Gamer's fault that his steely stomach was in such a state.

Yuhikira Joichirou laughed his ass off and taught Akira the basics of cooking and Japanese when he wasn't busy being a chef for big-shots.

At the end of the four days, two irresponsible men kidnapped the best nose of west India. Not that Akira wasn't okay with it, but they just forgot to tell him they were keeping him before pushing him into a plane for a faraway place with a difficult language and far too much mild spices. (He needed his fix of strong spices, damn it!)

And that was the story of how the Yukihira's family got a new child and Isshiki didn't get a fellow nudist.

x

#Sorrynotsorryforthepuninthetitle

I took the scene where Soma meets imaginary Soma-councilors from 'I Reincarnated into an Otome Game as a Villainess With Only Destruction Flags…' It's honestly hilarious. Give it a try if you like webnovel!

I swear I tried to make this chapter funny, but yeah... some heavy subjects here and there can sure make my job difficult.

 _Food stuff!_

 _Chicken cafreal_

spicy grilled chicken

pista barfi

Kind of pistachio fudge.

Bal Mithai

Is brown chocolate-like fudge coated with sugar balls.

Disclaimer: I talked a bit about Hinduism in this chapter through Akira's eyes. I grazed the surface of it, actually. Keep in mind he is an uneducated child living in the slums. Of course he doesn't know about it as much as experts do. Perhaps his view is warped, perhaps his view is more realist. He knows what he had seen. With Akira, I wanted to acknowledge as a writer that it's not everybody who thinks like a person from a western culture.


	5. Granny Gang

In a dark room littered with cozy chairs, steel glittered under the stars' light. Faces were concealed in the darkness, only letting their somber eyes gleam dangerously as they sat around a black table. Bodies of all sizes tensed, ready to pounce and win.

A shiny cane knocked on the table. "Ladies and elderly, we meet today for a great reason."

A trembling hand rose. "Ma'am president, aren't we going to play mahjong?"

Someone elbowed the raised hand. "Suzuka, weren't you listening during your last meet up?"

"I think her hearing aids were not working." A light voice piped up on the other side of the room.

Suzuka lightly tapped her hearing aids and raised her hand again. "So what are we doing tonight? Please tell me we aren't playing dominoes. I hate that game."

"That's because you're a sore loser, Suzuka."

Suzuka gasped. Her raised hand became a fist. A hand patted her shoulder gently to calm her down. The president started to slowly massage the bridge of her nose.

"Can someone switch the light on?" Another voice piped up.

"Still scared of the dark, Momoi?" Someone taunted with a trembling tone.

"You're the one who is holding my hand and praying, Kurani." Momoi shot back before she raised their linked hand for everyone to see. Someone swore and bodies fell to the ground.

Two or three people shuffled around, asking muffled questions about the whereabouts of the snacks and popcorn.

The light was finally switched on. Grannies blinked owlishly, some protected their poor eyes with their hands until they grew accustomed to the light while other basked in the light and violence some of their comrades were producing. At the end of the battle, after much booing and cursing, Momoi had lost her dentures and Kurani had a mean blackeye.

The president's smile transformed into a grimace. She raised her cane high in the air, silently cursed her aching muscles, and slammed it on the poor table again. "Ladies! Could you kindly give me your attention?"

The people in the room stilled. Momoi delicately put her dentures back in place. "Yes, ma'am."

The president slowly twirled her cane between her thin fingers. Her acolytes discreetly tried to switch places with other people. Nobody was foolish enough to accept.

The president twitched her lips upwards and, with the right lighting, it almost looked like a gentle smile. "Good. Now unto the subject of our meeting. Yukihira-kun adopted a child. Everyone saw him?"

The women nodded. Momoi smiled. "He is cute."

Kurani brushed invisible dust off her hands before she daintily picked up a manju from the plate in front of her. Momoi caressed her jaw and eyed her jealously. "Very polite too."

Another lady played with her snack thoughtfully. "From what I've seen, the boy needs love."

"And a bit more meat on his bones!"

Mumbles of approval echoed around the room. Someone waved her hand dismissively. "Same thing."

The president blew on the steam coming from her cup of tea. "We shall hope his adopted father does not corrupt him."

The old madams nodded in synch. They paused to sip at their hot tea and marvel at the softness of Yukihira's castella.

The president sighed. "I am worried for the boy. There is no hope for little Soma-chan, his head is already filled with cooking. However, it might not be too late to save Akira-chan. We owe this much to Hikari-chan. Her bloodline shall live on through him and his children."

Another round of sounds of approval echoed in the room. A lady sniffed back a laugh. "Honestly, I don't know how Hikari-chan bewitched Yukihira-kun away from his precious kitchen."

"She kidnapped him, I reckon."

The old madams chuckled softly.

Silence permeated the room as the ladies let the ghost of a bright woman lit their memories. Such a nice woman, dead too young. Such a small child alone, without a mother to guide his first steps. Such a young widowed man, alone to take care of a child and a restaurant.

They munched on Yukihira's Melon Pan silently.

The president cleared her teary throat. "It was noble and kind of him to adopt this child. It was also a reckless move. Yukihira-kun pulled through rather harsh moments before. However, having only one child and having two is completely different."

Heads nodded and lips pouted at the thought of their favorite cook juggling between his cooking, his children and his clients. Their hearts were moved too, just a little.

"There's no maternal touch in this family. I believe we can all agree that the boys need one."

The old grannies stared at each other over their snacks and came to a silent understanding (except Madam Nomi, but that old viper was technically not a member of their little gathering. Cheating at mahjong was not looked kindly at by their group. Especially when their centuries-old recipes were at stake. They also had a ban on the elder Yukihira, for another reason. The foxy cook was simply too good at games when it came to stealing their best recipes.)

"Good. We will thus put in action the plan 'Save cute Akira-chan from Evil' tomorrow."

The president blindly reached for the plate of snacks and touched nothingness. All the ladies present engulfed the snacks in their hands in one go. The president's eyes twitched. In the end, she went back to nursing her tea.

Momoi turned herself toward her comrades gathered around the table. "I still think we should be named the Mahjong Club. That's what we do all day."

Her neighbor laughed behind her hand while she pinched Momoi's hand. Hard. "Don't be silly. Our glorious name won't change. We're named the Golden Grannies because we're living the best part of our lives now." Through clenched teeth and behind a cup of tea, she continued. "Pretty sure the president wanted to name us the Granny Gang, so be happy with what we have."

The president chose that moment to smile pleasantly at them. A shiver ran down their spine as they remembered what she used to be in her prime. A feared boss no one would have dared to look directly in the eye.

As they avoided eye contact, they assured themselves they were past their juvenile fears and adoration.

x

Yukihira Joichirou was quietly washing tables on a slow hour when a wild granny appeared in front of him.

She approached the cook with a light sniff and motherly smile. Joichirou smelled troubles. "Yukihira-kun, your fried chicken is as good as ever, though I would put less salt. You know how it is when you're old... my arteries are not what they used to be."

Joichirou nodded and made a mental note. Another wild granny echoed her laugh. "We old people need things that are easy to eat, tasty and comply with our doctor's demands!"

The chef blinked and surveyed his restaurant for more strays. When did she enter his diner? The bell on his door hadn't rung and he hadn't noticed her until she was jabbing her finger into his chest. Ow. He massaged his sore chest.

A wild gathering of grannies materialized themselves beside their hoary comrade. They stalked towards their target, hobbling along with their canes and aching joints. Joichirou fought the urge to run and stood his ground, ready to be defeated.

Madam President, for no one dared to use her real name and knew calling her Boss would result into a violent lecture, stood before him. The cane she leisurely used as a pillar for her linked hands looked like a sword ready to be swung at a criminal. "Now, Yukihira-kun, we noticed the new addition to your adorable family."

Joichirou arched an eyebrow and hid his twitching hands behind his back. Where were his knives? "Yes…?"

"Akira-kun seems to be an absolute delight. However, I didn't see him much around the district." The looming gaggle of wrinkly eyes behind her seemed ready to pounce and eat him. He felt as loved as a piece of meat ready to be served to starving ex-vegans.

"Akira doesn't know our district well enough to wander alone. Plus, he just started to learn Japanese, so we prefer to be with him outside."

Madam President's smile was as warm as the surface of Pluto. "I applaud your idea. However, you know you can ask for our help if you need it."

"Yes, of course. Thank you." No way in hell was he letting them near Akira. _Evil little grannies._

An old woman advanced half a step to be just behind her leader and cleared her throat. The president glanced at her before she nodded. The brave lady took it as the signal to attack. Joichirou mentally unsheathed his saber and prepared his shield.

"Yukihira-kun, you don't let the children cook on their own when you cannot, right?" One smash on his shield.

He stood and readied his staff. "Soma is old enough to-"

"Yukihira-kun, you don't leave the children on their own, all alone and lonely, while you work, right?" She got him on the shoulder. His shield was making dying noises.

He patched his shoulder with a wave of his staff. He prepared a powerful spell to annihilate them all. "Soma is at school-"

"Yukihira." The President stunned him. He searched frantically for his anti-stun potion. Where? Where did he put the damn thing?!

"Yes, ma'am." He finally articulated after downing three potions.

"We old people have a lot of free time." She crooned like a dark siren that had had a sore throat for months.

"Yes, ma'am." Madam President was preparing a powerful attack; he could feel it in his bones. The thing that made his hair stand up was that he didn't know where it would come from.

"Your children must feel terribly lonely."

"No, ma'am-" He put up his guard and hoped his last spell would be powerful enough to keep him alive.

A cane whacked his head. Yukihira Joichirou, magician cook, KOed by an 82 years old lady boss. "Don't try to reason with that blub-head. His head is filled with cooking and nothing else. You, young man, need help and you will accept it."

Her second-in-command harrumphed. "I taught classes full of students as stupid as you during 50 years. I can manage one little boy."

Grannies left the gaggle one by one, instruments in hands and twinkling eyes offering a truce of sort. "I sew clothes for my entire family during 40 years. Give me his measurements. He will be the cutest boy of our district."

"My son is a nutritionist; Akira-chan has an appointment Wednesday."

"My brother-in-law's little cousin's ex-girlfriend is the director of the primary school. He has a place there."

Momoi patted her chest worriedly. "Your brother-in-law isn't dead?"

Kurani laughed. "He is! That little cousin owes me…"

Momoi massaged away some flimsy phantom ache. "You beat somebody for him?"

"Worse! I cooked for him until he found himself a wife. Imagine that; he can burn water just by looking at it."

In the middle of the scheming and chatting grannies, Joichirou massaged his aching head and sighed. _What woman wants, Kami-sama wants._

"Oi, Joichirou-chan, get us something nice to eat!" The President had let go of all pretence and was sitting like a gangster on his counter. He hoped she would hurt her back when she would get down from there. Just for the form.

"I want pasta!"

"Dessert would be nice too!"

He grumbled under his breath and made a strategic retreat to his kitchen. However, He did sharpen his knives perfectly to make their favorites dishes, because clients were kings and he hadn't often such golden hearted ones in his diner.

x

In a certain playground, in a certain city, two boys fiddled with sticks, aimlessly drawing lines and clouds.

"Sumak."

A hot pepper-haired child stilled before he wiggled his fingers towards his companion. "Soma."

An ash-haired child nodded. "Sumak."

"Soooooooooooomaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

"Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak."

Soma pouted. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't cha?"

Akira blinked. Soma detected the evil hiding behind soft eyelashes and pure irises. He so wasn't going to help his Indian roommate write hiragana in the sand. He would just show him how to write them then watch him struggle with his incomprehensible language.

Akira pushed his stick toward Soma. The vermillion rockfish-haired boy clasped his hands together. Nope. He was going to hold his ground. Akira needed to learn how to do it alone. No quivering lips and sad eyes would budge him- "Please, Sumak."

His hands caved in. They ghosted over Akira's neck, finding easily that small spot that always made him laugh and squirm. They deemed their mission finished when their target fell on the ground in his attempt to squirm and wiggle away. Akira flicked his nose in retaliation, brows scrunched. "Sumak, be serious."

Soma scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out. Akira had learnt those two words way too quickly. "Yay, yay, Captain."

"Captain?"

Soma took up Mr. Stick and wildly drew a boat in the sand. "This is a boat. It is boatiful."

Akira nodded. "Boatiful."

Soma schooled his growing smile. Educating gullible cook sure was fun. The jester drew a magnificent man of sticks on the boat. He had a nice, big hat. "On a boat, you have a captain. A leader."

Akira tapped the small man with his own stick. "I'm the leader?"

Soma paused, and then he drew, masterfully of course, another stickman next to the captain. "Nha, I'm the captain. You're the first mate. The only guy allowed to kick the captain's ass."

Akira made a sound that could only meant he was awed by his new status. "In the sea, things that swim." The boy gestured slowly with his hands something that vaguely resembled the movements of the waves. "What is their name?"

Soma tilted his head. "You can eat those?"

"Can be eaten. Not many things cannot be eaten." The café-au-lait boy chided gently, as if he was the teacher and Soma, his student.

Mr. Stick moaned in Soma's hand. It cracked like the clams he had smashed to pieces in his last experiment. _Don't show him, Soma. Be cool. Be coooool._

Soma silently listed all the things nobody should have to eat in their life. Things that weren't delicious. Things that were called by the bitter name of garbage in his country. He bit on acrid coals and smiled. _You're never, ever going to go back._

"Fish." Soma informed his friend. "You're talking about fishes."

One crooked x later, they were starring at an eyeless and mouthless fish. Soma rectified its problems right away by adding nice long teeth and one eye to his masterpiece. Above it, he wrote the word in English and Japanese.

"Fish." Akira repeated softly. His lips hooked up in that small arc that made him look cute and young. He took up his own stick (Miss Stick. She was Mr. Stick's beloved daughter.) and proceeded to give the lonely fish a family. Soma had to admit Akira was more talented than him in arts.

"Well, well, well, isn't that Yukihira-kun?"

Soma knew that voice. He was smiling even before he had gotten a good look at the person who had called him out. "Isshiki!"

His senpai clasped his shoulder with affection. "You did not call back after you came back."

Soma face palmed internally. Oops. That was true. "Sorry. I was kinda busy. But I brought you back something nice! It's in my house. Spices. My friend picked them up himself for ya."

"I see. Thank you for the kind gift, Yukihira-kun." Isshiki made a face Soma hadn't the time to decipher. He seemed to thank him only because it was the polite thing to do in this situation. Spices were perhaps too common a gift for his noble acquaintance. Noble and mighty knuckles gave a good harsh rub to Soma's hair. "You are pardoned. Thanks to your idea, Nene-chan accepted to be my friend again! As long as I do not force her to watch anymore episode of Sailor Moon and wear seemly clothes..."

Soma hummed along, his eyes still glued to his Indian roommate. He had to be vigilant. Creeps could jump from a shadowy bench and offer him candies. Akira had the bad habit of overeating. That gave him stomachaches and made him an insufferable (but cute! Always cute!) roommate.

"..and who might that be?" Isshiki finally asked.

Soma twirled Mr. Stick around. "The reason I was kinda busy."

Akira looked up from his aquatic world. "Hello. Akira. I'm the first mate."

Isshiki shot a glance at their masterpiece before he raised an eyebrow. The way he looked down at his boatiful boat irked Soma. Okay, he was a cook, not an artist. He couldn't be perfect, even with his main character's halo.

At least the fishes were nice. Except the one he had drawn. That one was cute in its ugly way.

"I met him in Goa. His nose's the real deal. He lives with us now." Soma decided that was enough information. The rest was between him and Akira. Between him and the slums of Goa.

Isshiki made no comment on the missing but important pieces of the puzzle named Akira. He hummed thoughtfully. "If I may inquire, what do you mean by 'real deal'?"

Soma smiled.

He respectfully put down Mr. Stick and gestured at Akira. "Let's go home, first mate."

Akira ran to their side. Soma clasped Isshiki's shoulder. "Akira, this is Isshiki."

The little caramel boy tilted his head. "Isshiki." He breathed out.

Soma clapped. His protégé was learning so fast. "Very good."

"Let's go, friends."

They bounced together through the calm alleys of his neighborhood. No wild creeps appeared to offer candies or spices. Soma would have had a hard time keeping Akira out of harm if his spice addict smelled something nice.

He heard voices coming from the restaurant even though it wasn't the rush hour. Ancient, dangerous voices. Well, not as old or dangerous as Smaug's, the hoarder dragon voiced by an actor with a name that sounded like an alien veggie, but still pretty perilous. It could only mean one thing.

The Granny Gang was there.

Soma didn't steel himself nor did he search for the closest hiding place. He was not like his father. He had a resistance buff called 'youth'. He preferred calling it 'I'm-cute-as-a-button-and-you're-old-as-fudge'.

The Granny Gang's radar was as good as ever. Mysteriously, the door wailed, mist escaped the restraints of his diner and pepper and salt head appeared in the doorway.

"Soma-kun! My favorite little cook! How are you?"

He tipped an imaginary hat toward her. "Life's good, Madam. Where is my father?"

"Your father is…" A manly scream of horror livened up their conversation. "He is occupied right now. You can go up, of course."

"Thank you." He smiled charmingly and bowed deep and low.

The door moaned and squeaked as an old and yellowed hand closed it. Soma's eye twitched. He had perfectly oiled the hinges last week.

Isshiki had an emotion that tiptoed between amazement and horror plastered on his face. "I did not know you had manners. My parents will be flabbergasted."

Soma nudged him. "I don't think anybody in Japan uses that word anymore."

Isshiki jumped the steps that led to their humble apartment. "I do."

"True." Soma chuckled. He reached for his keys in the black hole of his pockets. Jelly beans, curd paste, cured lemon, knife, spices annnnnd keys.

One turn later, they were inside. They bounced in sync toward the kitchen.

Akira tugged Soma's shirt, face scrunched up. "They bad?"

Soma bit back the need to yell 'cute' and 'moe'. They were not in that kind of story, damn it. He heard another man scream of agony. He smiled. "The Granny Gang? Noooo. Not really. They're crazy foodie."

"Will Mr. Yukihira be fine?" Isshiki inquired as he sat on a stool. Crazy foodies seemed to be a problem for his family too. Soma remembered with a shudder the crazies back at Kinokuni.

Soma reached for the spices rack. "Yes. He will just probably cook for them until exhaustion."

Akira tugged his shirt again "Joi will be fine?"

"Yes. He will be fine." Soma gave Akira a spice to smell and discreetly joined his hands. He thought a quick prayer up for his father. _Stay alive until I beat ya, old dude._

x

One spice contest later, Akira was happily munching on an orange. He had won, of course.

"So that is that kind of real deal." Isshiki mused aloud. Soma was happy to detect an hint of awe on Mr. I'm-only-astounded-by-your-dad's-cooking. He puffed up his chest. Akira was worthy of it.

"Yup. Awesome, right?" Soma said that for the form. Akira was awesome.

Isshiki nodded. "Indeed. What do you intend to do with Akira-kun's gift?"

Soma glanced at his picked up friend. Akira looked like a squirrel with his puffed up cheeks. The Yukihira boy smiled. "Make him evolve."

Isshiki raised an eyebrow. "And, what else?"

Soma rolled his eyes. Wasn't it obvious? "Make a cook out of him."

"What an interesting project." A strange gleam had lit Isshiki's pure eyes. It spoke of evil and magnificent ways to make the world a funnier place. "Have you started yet?"

"Nha."

Isshiki loosely hang his hands around Soma's neck. Soft hair tickled his cheek. He puffed in his ear. "Say, Yukihira-kun."

"Hmm?" Soma hummed. He reached for an orange. They did look delicious.

"You mind if I help you?"

Soma's hand stilled and he let go of the orange. He wasn't hungry anymore. Good news sated his appetite better than any fruits. "Of course not." _I'm not that good of a teacher anyway. Please help me senpai._

"What does he know?" Isshiki's pointy chin was carving its way into his skull, Soma was sure of it.

"Nothing." Soma decided to be truthful. He had taught nothing. His father hadn't either. Fattening him up and making sure he understood he was there to stay had been more important than teaching him the ways of the chef.

"He does not know the most basic thing about cooking." Isshiki said flatly. His breath warmed Soma's nape like one of those 1000 degrees knives would have.

"That's right." _How could Akira know?_ Sometimes, when Soma closed his eyes before sleep overtook his conscience, flashes of rough skin hidden under dirt and of plastic walls that had poorly protected a little boy during so many years appeared. Akira had showed the Yukihira family his 'house' before they embarked him on their surprise journey. Soma hadn't liked it. Not one bit.

"The fact that he has a good nose does not mean he is a good cook." His older friend whispered into his ear. His ears tingled and buzzed. He hated that feeling. It made him think of that damned day, of that stupid victory, of that French wannabe and that dude who won the award for 'Worst Father' every year since the birth of his daughter.

Soma shook his head. He remembered the Gao-style fish his Indian friend had concocted for them, once upon a universe. "He will be."

Akira gobbled the last piece of orange and looked at them expectantly. He was a bunny, unaware that an eagle was ready to catch him between its talons to eat him whole.

"This is going to be so fun." Isshiki burst into laughter. It sounded evil. Soma joined in. He smartly covered the goose bumps on his arms.

One moment later, Isshiki was sharpening his knife, eyes on his prey. There was no going back. The poor Indian boy had no idea what was going on. Soma smiled at him and prayed his senpai wouldn't be too intense. His friend could be... weird sometimes. A true chef. Sanity was not one of the requirements of their profession after all.

"Yukihira-kun, can you get the ingredients for a curry?"

"Sure." The carmine-haired led Akira by the hand through the kitchen. They picked the ingredients together. Soma picked them and Akira smelled them. If they passed the test of his nose, they ended up on the table as sacrifices for the great carnivore and his sharp tooth. Soon, everything was in place. The older boy of the trio had somehow calmed his excited cackles. He handed a knife to Soma and Akira.

"We shall start, first mate." He said mightily. "First, you watch."

He chose a plump onion and put it on his board. Isshiki didn't dice his onions. He raised his knife, made a clean cut, paused, and repeated until small pieces littered his board. Soma followed him closely, in sync with the dull sounds coming from his senpai's wood board.

Akira, crouched on his stool with his eyes wide open, looked like a hawk.

When they were both done with their onion, Isshiki nudged Akira toward his wood board. He placed a new onion on it. "Try it now."

Akira gripped his knife and advanced toward his round enemy. The enemy struggled and sent lachrymal bombs his way. He fought valiantly and won the battle.

Isshiki coached him on the front line. It started with a warning. "Not like that! You're going to cut your fingers." It was followed with an advice. "You see the small bubbles? It means the oil is at the good temperature. Now we can put the onions. It will excite them and makes them happy. Do it." It continued with Akira pointing insistently at his spices set.

"You want to put some in there?"

The Indian boy nodded vigorously.

Issihiki shrugged. "Okay. Choose what would be better with it. It will be your fault if the dish is bad though."

Soma fluttered around the edges of the cooking duo, silent. He had nothing to do. They asked him to do nothing. A teacher had emerged. He blinked back burning tears. It was the damn onions. It always was the onions. He would swear on his dad's worst combo to date it was just the veggies that did those things to his eyes.

His senpai was there. Finally.

* * *

Who is next? You decide.

 ** _Food porn_**

Sumak: that's a spice. I make horrible puns, I know.

Manju: Manju are Chinese-style steamed buns that have a bread-like outer shell and a sweet inner filling. The bread is somewhat sticky and they often have wax paper on the bottom. Manju come in hundreds of varieties.

Melon Pan: Bread shaped like a melon with a thin cookie crust. Despite its name, Melon Pan isn't typically melon flavored.

Castella: sponge cakes that were introduced to Japan by the Portuguese in the 16th century. Despite their simple taste, they remain popular in Japan today.


	6. The Game's even better!

"He is never going to learn like that, Yukihira-kun."

Soma stopped grinding his hand again the damned burnt veggies that just wouldn't stop kissing the pan. "Watcha means?"

Isshiki generously sauced Soma's pan with soap. He glanced at the boy happily munching and sniffing on his vegetable curry. He lowered his voice. "A cooking class once in a while is not going to turn him into a world class cook."

Soma started to grind again. _Begone, stains!_ "My dad teaches him. And I help him too." And there was a smidge of pride there. His father wasn't called the Asura for nothing. He himself hadn't been known as an unpredictable jack of all trades for jokes. They both had more than one sharpening stone and many, many tricks to teach. And Akira was an eager student.

Isshiki poured water on the pan. There still remained corpses of forgotten vegetables on the poor pan. "Will it be enough?"

Soma didn't answer. Isshiki finally took the pan off Soma's hands as his last enemies went down the drain.

"… Are you occupied tomorrow?" The hazel-haired boy asked softly.

Soma nodded and rinsed the other kitchen utensils. "I have school." _Damned institution._

Isshiki hummed. He took the utensils one by one and put them on the drying rack. "Akira-kun will be alone?"

Soma sprinkled water on Akira and Isshiki as he dried his hands up in the dark and ancestral style of furiously waving them in the air. "No, dad stays with him in the restaurant."

Isshiki calmly brushed a drop of water off his cheek. "I will keep him company then. I do not have classes in the afternoon."

Soma hummed, neither agreeing nor refusing. "Akira."

His little friend jogged to him immediately, plate and utensils in hand, ready to wash them. Soma nabbed them and put them in the sink. He took Akira's hand in his own and pointed Isshiki with his free one. "Do you want to see Isshiki tomorrow? He wants to cook with you again."

Isshiki waved lazily and offered a dazzling smile to Akira. Akira gnawed on his lips thoughtfully. "Cooking together?"

Isshiki nodded. "Yes. I will show you the conventional way to cut vegetables."

Akira blinked.

Soma rubbed Isshiki's nose. "Your Japanese's too advanced for him, Isshiki." He chided.

"My bad." Isshiki crossed his arms as he fell in deep thought. The familiar register of language was not something he grasped with ease, it seemed. Knowing his weird intellect (and Soma's influence!), it wouldn't be long until he started to use contractions and shame his entire family tree. "We're going to cook good stuff. It won't be much."

There. Soma was sure he had heard Isshiki's ancestors scream in anguish.

Akira's eyes lit up in that special way that told them he had understood. Also, he was cutting energetically an imaginary vegetable against his wooden board with his knife.

Soma nudged the oldest boy in the room. "That's my catch phrase, you shameless thief."

Isshiki chuckled. "That is why he understood."

Thus the cooking classes continued. Soma was often on the sidelines, adding a grain of salt and a pinch of knowledge there and here to spice Akira's learning up. Sometimes he would just jump on Isshiki's back and call him his 'royal destrier'. For scientific purposes.

Isshiki's back muscles were strangely firm. His hair smelled like salted caramel. Soma did have a sweet tooth (or a thousand).

Akira would then jump on the both of them and try to stay on top of them. He seemed to believe it was an important part of Japanese socializing. Mayhem ensued and they burnt their caramelized onions on more than one occasion.

Soma was prouder each day. His little Indian friend was becoming weirder everyday under his tutelage.

Of course, Isshiki and Akira had moments and things that were only theirs. Soma had to go to school while Akira stayed home and Isshiki had tutors at home. Hence, they spent more time together. It was a good thing; Akira deserved to have many, many caring friends and a better teacher than Soma. Isshiki needed a reason to have even more fun in the kitchen.

Akira and Isshiki included him when they could, telling him their adventures of the day and pranks.

Like today. The trio found themselves around the Yukihira's kitchen table after a fulfilling day of cooking and laughter (or studying and reviving past horrors on Soma's side). Soma was munching on a delish cranberry/orange muffin while Isshiki was braiding Akira's hair.

Isshiki had that special smile that told he had been up to no good. "Nene-chan ate a spoonful of Akira's special cinnamon." That explained it. Akira had discovered the art of mixing spices. Nowadays, he liked concocting explosive bombs. Poor Nene-chan. Soma decided to pray for her when he would have the time.

Isshiki's devious smile widened. "You should have seen her face, it was so-"

Akira reached for Soma's hair and held a few strands against the pale skin of his palm. "Red. Red like your hair."

Isshiki laughed. "Indeed. Or a cranberry, perhaps. And then she chased us around with her weapon of mass destruction-"

Akira shook his head. "Not a weapon. A rolling pin. Isshiki got hit very hard. I wasn't caught." He looked proud then, the little spices devil. Soma wondered how his spices mix ended in Isshiki's hands or anywhere near Nene's palate.

It was a good prank though. _God's tongue_ had never had anything like Akira's stuff. That opened a whole new door…

Isshiki cradled Akira's head in a gentle headlock as he shared his wisdom. "Akira, a rolling pin is a weapon in the hands of a woman. Anything is a weapon in their hands."

Soma nodded. Nothing was sacred for the creatures named woman. He had seen the Granny Gang threaten poor citizens with mochi. Mochi! The best and sometimes cutest thing to eat during festivals. Maybe their mochi was stall and rock-hard, but it could have still been eaten with some good green tea.

Or used to bully his father. Both options were good.

Isshiki finished braiding Akira's hair into a crown with a flourish. "Anyway, Nene-chan apologized after. She is a nice girl."

"We being lucky. She had shiny knives." Akira put his hands in the hair to show the length of her shiny knives. Nene-chan seemed to like extra-long knives. Perhaps some Maguro bocho blades?

"We were lucky." Soma corrected him softly. Akira obediently repeated.

"And you, Yukihira-kun, how was your day?" Isshiki took a muffin off the plate and looked at it as if it were a big diamond.

"Fine." _Boring._

Isshiki abandoned his muffin to hook his eyebrow up. Did he hear people's thoughts now? Damn, he was becoming more and more fearsome.

"Nothing interesting?" Akira piped in.

Soma crossed his arms and thought long and hard. Math. _Boring_. Gym. _Mildly homicidal_. Science. _Nothing I haven't seen with Alice._ Lunch… "Ah. I found new tasters. They're really motivated."

"Really? They accept to eat your special dishes?" Isshiki asked. His hands were joined together as if he were praying.

Akira shuddered.

Soma shrugged while a knowing gleam lit his eyes. "Nha. Can't fault them though. These really smell like death. I keep 'em for dad anyway."

Soma couldn't concentrate at school. He kept his grades at a comfortable place where his father didn't raise his eyebrows and ask him what was wrong and where his teachers were happy to not demand anything more out of him.

The subjects his teachers taught didn't exhilarate him like a good shokugeki had done once. They taught things he had learnt a life ago.

In the end, he spent his time writing down recipes and pretending to play with his classmates. His only joy was the lunch hour. He helped the staff serve the dishes everyday and added some of his stuff when nobody was looking. The good stuff, otherwise the staff would have had problems. He kept the mysterious and weird for his newfound tasters. They understood his passion for cooking (or their passion for eating was very strong).

Soma let his head hit the table as he sighed. School was no fun. Puns were funnier. "I feel like eating pancakes. I think every morning that I'm going to make pancakes, but I keep waffling." He muffled out.

Silence met his genius pun. He raised his head. No responses. Isshiki was squinting (in an effort to not twitch, surely) and Akira was blissfully ignorant.

"And I learnt about electricity today. It was lit." Soma added some _spice_ to his imaginary waffles.

Isshiki blinked. He mechanically turned his head toward his redfish-haired friend. His hand grasped Soma's squid snack and swapped Soma's nose with it.

"These giant squid jokes are kraken me up." Isshiki whispered before he gulped on the salted treat with a challenging tilt of his chin.

Akira tilted his head in the background, cute little eyelashes fluttering as he tried to understand what was going. Japanese was such a weird language.

Soma grinned. He reached for his treat and munched on the squid tail fiercely. "If you can't bear with it, go to Italy, Rome around and pasta time."

Akira blinked as slow realization made a muscle just over his eye twitch.

Isshiki paused. "Hmm. Maybe one day." A grin made his dimple appear. "But I went to a peanut factory yesterday. It was nuts!"

Akira's head gently met the table. Several times.

Gods, his friends were stupid!

x

Yukihira Soma found himself terribly bored one lazy afternoon his father had decided to take Akira out. No moderator to call, no little Indian guy to tease, no Isshiki to make fun things with.

(For some reason, the moderator's number had been disconnected. Soma hoped the dear dude hadn't ended up in the hospital because of his poor eating habits.)

So to pass time and monitor his cooking nemesis, Soma checked Tsukasa's status each night. Many things were still blurred, but thanks to each hour Soma spent sweating and cooking, he could see a bit more.

 **Name** : Tsukasa Eishi

 **Occupation** : The Gamer

 **Level** : 15

 **Designation** : Chef in Training

 **Strength** : 10

 **Wisdom** : %&?(*

 **Intelligence** : $?%*

 **Luck** : 9

 **Point** : 5

 **Skill Sets** :

 **Active** : Knife wielding, Clean Freak, Posh Acting, Dance, Baking, Food Science, Heat Control, Recipe Maker.

 **Passive** : Mysterious Atmosphere, Knight Aura, Perfect Taste, Will of the Chef, Awkward Talker.

Oh, the Gamer had a new Passive skill. 'Awkward Talker' was a euphemism for Tsukasa-senpai though.

The screen glitched. Soma threw his hands back. The screen disappeared completely, leaving a stupefied boy in the bedroom. What?

He tried to reopen the game's stats to no avail. The Game refused to answer him. Soma scratched his neck anxiously. Had something happened to Tsukasa? What had the Game crashed? Did it also have to update itself?

An old chest appeared on his bed.

Soma looked around. Nope, no reaper or otherworldly beings ready to kill him with a spoon. Just him, his collection of knives and a decrepit chest.

He took a knife out. Better be safe than sorry. He stung the chest's exterior with his knife. Okay, it hadn't moved. It was not alive. Good news. He placed his blade under the rusty lock and pushed upward.

An old book covered by cobwebs sat there, in one the corner of the chest.

Soma stabbed it. Security first.

It didn't move or try to eat Soma's hands with its evil powers. The boy considered that a good sign and picked it up. His screen immediately reappeared.

 **Ding Dong!**

 **A new feature has been added to the Sidekick's character.**

 **You can send messages to the Gamer. He won't answer tho, because he is the main character and you're only the sidekick.**

 **P.S. The moderator is currently traveling the gourmet world, searching his inner self and his will to live. Don't try to contact him, devil boy.**

The chest and the book dissolved in thin air. However, before it happened, the bound volume decided to not care about the laws of physics and smacked Soma right in the face.

The moderator had a strange way to express his love.

Soma massaged his abused face and hit the chat button. It sprang up in the air and… it looked like the chat of any social network. Except his interlocutor image were grey initials. MC. My Carott? My core? My cancer? Meat cake? Ehhhhh. Soma couldn't wrap his head around what it could possibly mean. It was a bit of a letdown since he was the Main Character of this story, but he would cook up some awesome dish to be forgiven.

Now, what could he send to his dear senpai?

A funny gif? A nice little emoji explaining he would soon come to knock some of his teeth off? A photo of his collection of knives?

His gaze wandered around his bedroom and then the kitchen as his feet led him there, sizing up his favorite snacks and his last abomination. Squid, caramelized onions, peanut butter, cheesecake, crackers, jelly, jams, spices bombs… A grin suddenly split his face in two. Oh, Tsukasa-senpai would understand right away.

He snapped a photo of a piece of squid dipped in peanut butter. His hands trembled when he pushed the 'send' button. Yes. Yes! Feel my cooking power!

He wrote a short message for himself on a piece of stray paper and tucked it under his pillow. Like that, he would be sure to see it every morning and remember one of his most important tasks of the day after taking care of Akira and making Isshiki laugh in the kitchen.

 _A photo a day keeps the Frenchie knight sick for life._

A couple more days passed weirdly normally. Akira learnt how to cut fishes with Isshiki and his old man. Isshiki was Isshiki (he made funny faces in the kitchen and cried a few times because life's awesome and how come he hadn't realized before!). Dad was dad.

Soma sent photos of unspeakable abominations to his dear, dear senpai. He peppered those with a half of Isshiki's silhouette or a quarter of Akira's wide smile. Cooking was fun; even there was no direction, no garden and no high walls to protect the cooks from the wilderness of the world.

He also challenged his old man from time to time with his best recipes.

"You lost again. Aren't you close to your fiftieth defeat now?"

 _500th, actually, dad._ "45th, actually. I'll win for sure next time!"

Joichirou chuckled and slapped his son's shoulder. For the boy, it clearly indicated his nonchalance towards Soma's promise. It fired up the Asura's boy even more.

"Your Tom Yum is pretty good. The two dishes in one was not a bad idea either." Joichirou complimented.

Soma puffed his chest up. "Of course. A spoonful of coconut milk and voila, you have a new soup!"

"You added galangal?" Joichirou took another sip and gulped it with an appreciative hum.

"Yup. The peppery and minty flavor adds a nice touch." He patted his father's hands. "It also fights osteoarthritis."

"Are you calling me old, boy?"Joichirou cracked his knuckles. They made nice, dangerous sounds.

Soma protected his butt with a tactical retreat behind the counter. "Noooooo."

Joichirou followed after him with a war cry.

Akira stopped eating his soup. He watched as the two Yukihira fighting and throwing failed experiments at each other. The youngest was running around a table with comical tears streaming down his face. The oldest was laughing manically as he ran after him.

Akira set down his spoon. He walked on the counter until he was on the edge. He crouched down. His prey was close. So close. Akira jumped on Soma's shoulders.

Soma, of course, heroically stood still for a second before he fell down. Joichirou didn't stop running on time and fell flat on his boys.

"Akira!" The clownfish-haired pair groaned.

Akira sneaked his hand from under Joichirou and made a thumb up. "I caught both." He said it as he had done a great deed for humanity.

Soma could only laugh. Joichirou grumbled but ruffled their hair all the same after he extracted himself from the human heap they had made.

Joichirou massaged his poor old back. "Boys, I'm going to Tsukiji tomorrow. Want to tag along?" He asked.

Soma bounced on the ball of his feet. "Sure!"

Akira made a confused face. "Tsujiki?"

Soma shook his head. "Tsu-ki-ji. A very, very big fish market. It opens very early in the morning." He said slowly.

"I want to go." Akira said seriously. "I like fish."

"Who doesn't?" Soma laughed.

* * *

A short treat for my readers everywhere. The next chapter _should_ be longer. We were supposed to see a new character here, but this chapter kept growing and I preferred to keep this at it is. Isshiki, Akira and Soma's interactions are always funny to write and I believe it is important they have some screen time together. To share puns.

Who we will see next, I wonder…

On another note, do you like the new Sidekick's feature?

 ** _Kitchen corner_**

Ahhh, the rolling pin. Weapon of mass destruction in the hand of any babushka or angry mother.

 ** _Tom yum_** : a soup from Laos and Thailand. Spicy by nature, you can make it a different soup with a spoonful of coco milk. If you ever make one, I strongly suggest you sip at it before and after putting the coco milk to see the difference. And yes, galangal is a must.

 **Galangal :** it looks like ginger but it hasn't the same flavor. The skin of galangal is smoother and paler than ginger and its flesh is much harder. It can't be grated like ginger can, but instead must be sliced. The flavor of galangal is much stronger too; it's earthy, sharp, and extra citrusy.


	7. A Fishy Cheat

The Sun peeked over the horizon to check if any people were seriously still awake at such an unholy hour then promptly went back to sleep because it was too damn early. Meanwhile, Soma moaned and rubbed his eyes.

Why did he say yes when his father, the big devil, asked them to accompany him at the fish market? His tiny puny body needed sleep.

Or coffee. An unimaginable amount of bitter sweet juice from those beans that were actually some kind of insect repellent-.

Soma tilted his head. Where did knowledge come from? Ah, he had to thank Nakiri the next time he met her.

A toasted hand came into view and hindered his scientific pondering. Akira, the little shit, was practicing his writing with a brush as if it wasn't 3 o'clock in the morning. It was so, so neat. Suspiciously so. Had one of the foodies grannies given him calligraphy lessons? They never were as nice with him as they were with Akira. Not that he was complaining. He could catch a weird sickness from them if he stayed too long in their vicinity. Something like an urge to pester every chef he met for his or her blood and tears (aka recipes and beloved creations). He didn't want to become that cruel.

Soma hit his face against the table. Why was he thinking about the foodie Granny Gang when he could rest his eyes sneakily to regain some sleep? Something was wrong with his head alright. He closed his eyes. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep...

The table was cool against his cheek. Akira's brush scratched the paper brusquely from time to time. It wasn't grating to his ears. The scent of the worn sheets of thick paper was strangely nice. Soma edged closer and breathed in. It smelled like the old recipe books his father kept in his bedroom. It smelled like freckles, soft brown hair and gentle hands roughened up by years of cooking. It smelled like...

"Soma, wake up." Someone shook his shoulders.

Soma rubbed his eyes. The pinch behind his eyes disappeared in an instant.

Akira put his calligraphy kit away and went to the sink to wash his hands.

Soma glanced at his father's arms. He pinched his arms and looked away. No. He was a grown up, even if he was in a stupidly tiny body. He was not going to demand a hug. His gaze wandered far away, towards the window. He knew she would have laughed at his excuses and hugged the dear life out of him.

Huh. He seriously needed coffee. Now. In the next instant. Death by sleep deprivation was the only other option. What would be a nice name for that? Sleepy death? No, no, no, not inventive enough… Sleepuku. That's it, the perfect name for his pathetic death.

His head hit the table with a short-lived moan.

A plate was placed in front of him. Eggs and rice. Humm. Did he smell jasmine?

"Stop grumbling and eat." His father had the gall to slap his shoulder. He was a fragile, tired child, okay! Hitting was certainly not okay.

"Yukihira-kun, you should eat. I believe the odors in Tsukiji will make you unable to eat any snacks." A gentle hand patted his hair.

"Shut it, Isshiki." Came Soma's sullen answer.

"As you wish."

Blessed silence filled his ears. Akira was silently munching on stuff. His dad was making tired dad's jokes (which meant they were worse than usual. Ugh.). He would not be forgiven. Not at 3 o'clock in the morning, an interesting hour Soma was supposed to fill with sleep. Isshiki was filling his nails like the big sissy he was.

His nails looked good though. All shiny and stuff.

"Isshiki?"

The eldest boy smiled charmingly. "It is I."

Soma made an effort to sit straight. He squinted at the intruder. "What are you doing here?"

Isshiki's small tilt of his lips almost blinded Soma. It had everything to do with the first rays of sunlight coming from behind the older boy and not at all to do with natural charm and wahtnot, Soma mused. "Yukihira-san invited me. I never went to the normal part of Tsukiji."

Soma decided not to act like a drama queen. Clutching his heart and demanding why nobody had told him such important information asked too much movements and energy. Energy was precious. His precious….

The Nemo-colored boy only blinked dumbly and glued his attention on less demanding things. "There are special parts?"

Isshiki's eyes twinkled and that was not normal. 3 o'clock magic, maybe? "Why, indeed. The premium cuts are not sold on the same stage."

Soma snorted. Of course. "Places for rich people and shady stuff, then."

Isshiki hummed thoughtfully. "It's a way to put it."

His friend then had the charity (and was he not a saint?) to give him a cup filled with a mysterious elixir that boosted his HP and energy level. In other words, his friend made him a cuppa of some delish hot cocoa. Cinnamon, brown sugar, golden sugar, premium choco… His young body's taste buds were weak against such a fabulous thing.

An uncomfortable amount of time was passed in tired silence inside a worn out car, then they found themselves in a maze made of fishes and other inhabitants of the sea.

The scent of the sea hit Soma's nose with the strength of a rogue wave. He breathed through his teeth. He loved the sea. He loved seafood. He was Japanese. He would overcome this ordeal.

Alas, Soma was weak. He pinched his nose. Gazes instantly found him and judged him for that act. Soma straightened his back and looked back. He was going to pinch his nose as much as he wanted and nobody was going to stop him. So what if he was weak? He was a proud bearer of the title 'my-nose-is-incredibly-weak-against-strong-sea-smells'.

In the background, Dad Yukihira chocked on his stifled laugh.

Soma ignored him, though a muscle over his left eye did twitch. A bit. Just a bit.

Soma sneakily left his group and gamboled through the maze, searching for the freshest, fattest tuna. His father was keeping half an eye on Akira and Isshiki and the rest on the fishes.

A black shadow was stalking them, hiding behind stands.

"Mom, look at that fish! It's perfect!"

That shout alerted every buyers in the area, plus Soma. They turned their eyes towards the boy who had shouted in sync to see the fish he was talking about. Their hands twitched. Yes, that fish was perfect… They eyed each other dangerously. Who would get it first?

Soma eyed the boy carnivorously.

"A good fish it is." The mother of the boy complimented softly. Her own eyes were roaming the stalls calmly. Her gaze studied each fish, cut them open and decided of their freshness and deliciousness. Next, the vendors were put under her sharp observation. Some, she found satisfactory. Others, not so much.

"Mom, Mom, Mom! This one's even better!"

"Yes, darling."

"Mom! This crayfish looks yummy!"

"Indeed, dear."

Buyers started to stalk the duo, creepily observing their every movement, hungrily watching as they discovered better fish after better fish.

Soma was doing the same, except he was not a creepy old stalker. He was a very young one. He let go of his nose. The air didn't smell that fishy there.

"Look at that Tuna, Mom! It's looking super duper delish."

Somei-senpai was so hyperactive. Soma hadn't imagined his younger self like that. He had thought the future samurai had always been strict and stern and all about honor. That image was crumpling really fast.

"A good one too." Somei's mother hummed.

"Mom-" Somei didn't finish his sentence. Soma used the infamous move every B-rated teen movie exploited: "whack-the-protag-to-make-a-good-first-meeting". It was super effective. Somei fell to the ground with a shriek.

Soma snorted. The future samurai's voice was light years higher than any girls Soma had met in his life.

Somei jumped to his feet a second later, pointing his assailant bravely as he fought off the tears that welled up in his eyes. Nope, definitely not the tough ass guy of the future. Did aliens kidnap him or something?

"Oh, so sorry! I didn't see you there." Soma put on his best 'I'm-not-a-liar-or-a-pro-swindler,-I-promise!' smile. It was very effective, as usual.

Somei blinked back tears and glanced at his mother with the stealth of an elephant. She nodded. "Sorry, I didn't see you either." He offered weakly.

They then tried to leave him at that after a series of platitudes and bows. Soma was not going to let any young promising chef stray out of his grasp, though.

"Are you a sushi chef?" He asked, eyes big and innocent. He pointedly looked at the fishes they had bought.

"Yes, she is! The best one in all of-" Mother Somei cowered Young Somei's mouth before he could enter full fanboy mode. She nodded, appraising Soma with new eyes.

Soma smiled and answered her silent questions. "My father is a chef himself, though sushis aren't his specialty." As if his old man had one. They, the Yukihira, were jacks of all trade, master of all.

A conversation thus started, a bit warmer than previously. They chatted about food and the very best knives, made by a blacksmith who lived in isolation in the mountains, while they browsed the stalls.

Finally, Somei's mother checked her watch.

"Saito, I'm going to look around a bit more. Can you stay with your new friend a moment?" She gestured towards the lift and Soma had the sudden suspicion she was going to the shady place Isshiki had talked about. She turned herself towards Soma. "If this doesn't inconvenience you, of course."

Soma would have kissed her if she hadn't been so tall. He settled on rubbing evilly his hands together. "No, it doesn't."

She left with a wave.

The boys stayed silent an instant. Somei was looking around, still not really interested in Soma.

"Soooo. Is the food your mom make yummy?" Soma asked, purely out of boredom and not at all to bait his young sushi friend.

"The yummiest." Somei answered seriously.

Soma blinked. That was eloquent. "Ah."

"My mom is the coolest chef ever."

"Oh." Okay.

"She can make anything with scraps. She can do anything. Ask, and it appears on your plate."

A complete fanboy young Somei was, thought the Gamer's sidekick.

"The way she cuts fish is just soooooo damn cool." Somei slapped his mouth shut, mortified. He nervously glanced around. After several rounds around the area, his gaze stopped wandering and fixed itself on Soma. "Don't tell her I said that word."

"What word?" Soma pinched his lips to fight down a smile.

Somei's eyes darted around. He leaned close to the other boy and breathed out. "…damn."

Oh, that was gold.

Soma tried to keep the laughter in as he nodded as gravely as he could.

Somei smiled and suddenly they were closer. He was murmuring wildly about his mother in Soma's ears and how utterly awesome her every breath was.

The son of the Asura discreetly used the Game's photo app. It would make for good souvenirs and even better blackmail. One day, Somei-senpai would be all solemn and 'bushido-is-the-only-way'. That day, Soma would remind him of the moments were he did nothing but fanboy on his mother. In the distant future, he was so going to get the best fish recipes from his victim.

Somei stopped breathing and as such finally stopped gushing about his amazing beyond words mother. He squinted at the stalls around him and scanned one fish in particular. Then he jumped on it.

He raised his boon high in the air, as if he had searched low and far for it and not just stolen it from the hands of a seller. "This is the one!"

The seller barked a good-natured laugh out while he sneakily tried to rip the fish from the child's hands. "You've got good eyes, lad. My fish is fresher than a babe just outta the womb."

His colleague, a stall farther the aisle, snorted. "A mummified baby, maybe."

The first seller cut down the head of a fish rather harshly with a pretty big and large knife. "What did ya say?"

A murmur ran through the market. Sellers readied their weapons. Buyers kept their head low as they tugged their smelly purchases in their coat and walked faster. They all repeated silently the known and loved mantra of the innocent bystanders that all too often ended as collateral damage _: if you don't look at 'em crazy, they won't attack you._

The seller who started it all cocked an eyebrow. "I said your fish is as fresh as a mummified baby found in a damn desert."

Somei covered his ears in horror when he heard the bad word slip from the vendor's mouth. He let go of his fish. Soma worldlessly tugged him away from the future no man's land.

Another seller raised an octopus high in the air. An anxious buyer immediately screamed and tried to dive under a stall, only to fall on his face. Everybody ignored his pathetic whimper. "FISH FIGHT!"

"…we need reinforcement if we want to get that fish." Soma observed the mayhem from a high position (a mysterious mountain of boxes that towered over the immense market.). Somei was attached to his hips, covering his eyes with one hand. Weirdly enough, his hand was opened so he could see everything. A very sneaky samurai, he was not.

"How nice to see you again Yukihira-kun."

Soma did not almost slip off the mountain in his fright. He did not. That was a hallucination. "Isshiki, dude, don't do that."

"I suppose we your reinforcement?" A wild Akira appeared on the mountain. He made a military salute before he jumped and caught a neon light. He somehow found a way to sit on it.

Soma snorted. Isshiki and Akira were good, but were they that good to be called reinforcement? No, no, no. He pointed at the fighting commoners at their feet. "No. The cavalry is already here."

Isshiki squinted.

Soma put his samurai down on a nice spot of the mountain, stable, nice view, nice air. Then he jumped down with a mighty scream. And somehow did not break his legs. Life was good.

"Oh my, isn't it Soma-chan." A voice called him laughingly.

He got up with a smirk. That was the cavalry. "Hello, Madam." He put on his best 'I'm-being-respectful-here' face. He even straightened his back.

The President of the foodie Gang looked all too gentle and kind thanks to the battle to the death behind her. Soma knew better than to trust that appearance. "Buying fish with your father, I suppose." She said lightly.

"Yes, Madam."

Her eyes strayed from him for a second. "And who might you be?"

"Isshiki Satoshi, Madam. Delighted to meet you." He bowed deeply, that boot-licker. Akira had somehow found his way to his shoulders, sitting there as if he was on a comfy throne and defying gravity by not falling down.

Isshiki smiled charmingly at the President of the Granny Gang. Soma pouted in the background. Akira had balance that was clearly out of this world. Not fair.

The President smiled and patted her blushing cheeks. "What a charmer you are, Satoshi-kun."

Somei decide to appear at that moment, jumping from the mountain while screaming in falsetto. Akira offered him his hands with a stern face. "Lost child, are you okay? Did Soma do anything bad?"

Soma royally ignored that comment. Somei kind of made a 'huh?' face and that was the end of it. Akira hugged him with a knowing face. "Don't worry, my friend is not that bad inside."

Soma continued to ignore passing comments about his virtue with all his might while Isshiki and Madam sneakered behind manicured hands. He was not that evil, damn it. He did not defile children's innocence for a living!

"Where is your father, Soma-kun?" Madam finally asked the question the boy was waiting for. He perked up.

"Dad is in there." He eloquently pointed at the big dusty white cloud that hovered behind them. Screams for blood and yelps for help echoed inside it. Fishes' heads and intestines occasionally were ejected from it.

That was not quite the truth. Really, he didn't really know where his father was. Maybe he was in the shaddy place for rich people, maybe kissing an octopus, God only knew. Soma still lied with a winner smile.

"Hmm." She eyed the fish brawl but made no movements.

Was the cavalry reticent to move? That wasn't good news. Soma fished for thoughts and carrots he could offer her. 'I found a really good fish and I'm gonna use you to get it' only sounded good to his shameless ears, after all.

"Madam, may you help us find him please?" Isshiki fawned shamelessly.

The old lady smiled good-naturally. "Of course, dear." She laughed behind her hand. "Knowing him, he is not going to come back with anything remotely good. What do you need?"

Somei raised his hand. "I let go of my fish. It's big and red and really, really beautiful."

The old Madam cooed at him. "I'll get it for you, darling."

Akira raised his hand. "The two best tuna you can find."

"Of course." She waved. One second later, she disappeared in the cloud of pent-up violence of fish sellers. The dust didn't dare to even mess with her clothes. It parted to let her pass through.

The boys admired the heroic sight in pious silence.

Isshiki turned around gravely. He patted Akira's shoulder. "You see where good manners can lead you, Akira-kun? Don't be a savage like Yukihira-kun."

Soma rolled his eyes in the background while Isshiki was in noble-ish mode. He flicked his tongue out at Akira with a wink. A moldy fish smacked him in the mouth.

The young boys giggled at the savage. "See. Listen to me and you'll not end like this poor boy, with a rotten and certainly poisonous fish in the mouth."

A fish smacked the back of Isshiki's head.

Soma got his revenge. He gave a thumbs-up to the fellow who did it, whoever he was.

A black shadow bit his nails, hidden behind a pile of dead seafood. He had meant to hit the savage a second time, not his young's master precious hair. He was the worst. His hands were the worthless piece of, of hands on earth! He should just cut them. He slapped his hands a couple times each.

Back to Soma, the boy was trying to wash away the awful taste of moldy fish by gurgling water and having sweet, sweet thoughts.

He was going to send his cherished senpai a new photo a bit earlier than usual. The stuck-up dude had not answered him yet, but he would sooner or later. Soma was patient. And at worse, he would just stalk him to the end of the world to show him the joy of cooking in hell.

Now, which photo would he send to his dear senpai to remind him that cooking was a fun and sometimes a puke-inducing thing?

Somei-senpai was way too out of character to be shown. His cuteness would lure the Frenchie out: the frog would mumble about showing the poor fish-addict the real way of cooking or something equally wretched.

Isshiki was too naked.

Akira was too cute.

His dad was his dad. Old and not nice to look at. Especially when he was boasting about besting his eight years old son yet again in a cooking match. The big ass.

He went through the rest of his album without finding anything satisfactory.

His finger hovered over the last picture he had taken. It was kind of blurry, but it was badass. With a grin, he selected it and sent it. Dark chuckles escaped his chest.

Tsukasa wouldn't understand right away. That was fine. Soma did for the both of them.

His picture showed Madam's badass back as she went into the radioactive mushroom of death for delicious fishes (and maybe his dad).

The Gamer had a stupid video game, but Soma had the Cheat. The president of the Granny Gang was not a force one could thoughtlessly dare to play with.

With his cheat, Soma felt his journey might be a tranquil sailing (as long as she didn't decide to kick his ass because he didn't make her enough cookies). He would manage to make enough cookies.

Or he could enslave some other cooks to keep her foodie craving in check.

* * *

I'm back from summer. Working is tough but fun. My writer's block officially left for the Bahamas. Schedule for the story on my profile. By the way, I started another story. It isn't as funny as this one (for now), but it isn't bad either. It's called 'Dreams of Red'.

-Reviews make a author happy, somewhere in the snow.

Who did Soma remember when he smelled Akira's papers...?

 ** _The Secret Food Stash Y'all Need_**

 **Tuna**

Is red. Is good in salads and for poor student's budget. Yummy in tummy. Can be pretty big.

 ** _Crayfish_**

Freshwater crustaceans resembling small lobsters. Can be red.


	8. The Cutting Contest

Fresh and smelly corpses covered the floor. Cold blood seeped from wounds under the harsh lights. Water slowly flowed on the dark ground, bringing pink liquid and guts to the miserable resting place that was the sewer. Metal glinted, embedded in corpses and glassy eyes. Experimented warriors sat on disemboweled boxes and cleaned their weapons as young gladiators stood, numbly starring at the carnage they had partaken in.

Soma squinted. He bounced back and forth until light hit the bloody scene perfectly from his high point of view. The boy lightly bent his knees to have the perfect angle and took a photo.

He starred at his art and smiled. Spooky. Perfect for Halloween. He could even make a meme out of it. A pun about fishes and death, maybe?

They had also occasionally cheered on Madam, (Isshiki had just wanted to be polite and Soma, well, he had to bow down to such awesomess) even she needed no encouragement to rule over the circus.

"Can we go now? I need to find my mother." Somei tugged Soma's shirt and whined.

Soma ruffled his soft hair once. Then a bunch of times more. Damn nice soft hair.

Finally, the dangers had subsided and the young fellowship of cooks started to leave the mountain. A treasure was waiting for them in the middle of the battlefield.

Isshiki elegantly jumped from the mountain of junk from where they had ooed and booed the gladiators. Fish and entertainment, what could they have wanted more. Akira sprang from his seat and ended his jump with a rough roll that left him on his knees.

Soma slowly came down, baby samurai glued to his hips. Baby samurai liked to complain. Daddy cook held his temper in check and did not push his baby off to a certain death. He mentally patted his back. He would make a good dad in the future.

Shouts attracted the fellowship's attention.

Some sellers that had been caught in the fight where crying over their spoiled goods. Others had just woken up from their bloody stupor and wanted to deny the fact they had really liked shoving a rotten sea urchin into another man's ass.

"Y'all monsters destroyed my stall!" A random seller threw his hands high. They wriggled as if they were still searching for throats to choke.

"Well, you suckerpunched me, asshole!" A second seller pointed his face where a blue flower known as a bruise was slowly blooming.

"You tried to bat my head with a shark fin!"

"No, I did not." The second man humphed, arms crossed and nose turned disdainfully.

The first man pointed over his shoulder, where the corpse of a stall remained; a tall fin was suspiciously embedded in the tent's only standing post. It was directly where the man's head could have been, if one were to compare the place of the fin and his height. "You sure did!"

The group of young boys wisely bypassed the group of squabbling sellers. Fish guts only looked good on other people's clothes. They made an orderly line in the middle of the chaos, stepping on somewhat clean water and avoiding corpses of forgotten fishes. Soma led his duckies to his Cheat.

Madam was brushing invisible dust off her jacket, precious tunas in an iced box. She smoothed her skirt and offered the boys a kind smile. Red dots and her crimson lipstick added to her murderous- splendid aura.

(The author is also afraid of Madam's retaliations if she were to write something the Madam didn't like.)

Somei made a run toward the fish, disregarding completely the hidden Boss.

Isshiki and Akira didn't make that error. They held Soma in place as they dutifully bowed and thanked her for her effort. Soma kind of whispered a thank you.

"You're very welcome, boys. That was fun. It reminded me of my wild youth." The Madam basked in their compliments and batted Isshiki's concern for her health away with a slight laugh.

Akira covered Soma's mouth. The boy looked at his companion reproachfully. He just wanted to ask one question about her wild youth, okay. And it wasn't that stupid! Tactless, but not stupid!

Somei was perusing the fishes in the background.

"That would my fishes, m'lady. For a small amount, they're all yours."

The Madam daintily fished her wallet out from her purse. She extended her hand holding the money toward him. Just as the seller's hand was a string away from the money, a voice stopped him.

"Wait. I wish to stake a claim on this fish."

An old man, face devoured by a white beard, hobbled his way through the rubble. An enormous thing enveloped in bandages that looked to be pointy and made to cut things open was strapped to his back. In his steady hands, banknotes were ready to be given.

Soma frowned. Somber music started to play. Soma knew what it meant. A boss had showed up just as they were obtaining victory.

Madam raised an eyebrow, perhaps at his boldness. She coughed lightly. "I bought that fish, old sir."

The 'old sir' didn't flinch under her cold gaze. Soma tsked. That man had to be a hidden Boss to be able to resist that glare so easily. "He has not accepted your money yet." The old man said lightly as he tugged on his beard gently. He extended his hand towards the fish.

Sparks appeared between Soma's trump card and the fish boss. Hmm. The Boss was stronger than he looked.

"Sushi-sama, I mean, Sasuka-sama-" The shrewd seller sounded clearly torn. He glanced at Madam and that Sasuka-sama dude, clearly afraid of the first and in awe of the second. He knew his better, clearly. But he remained indecisive. Soma took a step forward. No one would blame him too much if he forced things a bit. He worked for Destiny. Somei has fallen in love with that fish first, it was only right that he should cut it open and cook it to perfection.

The boy eyed his target. A small kick in the old man's knees should push him forward him enough to touch the damn money in Madam's hands and then they could leave this damn smelly place.

"Now, now, let's not fight. I believe my son paid for that fish already." Somei's idol appeared. Soma stopped mid-jump and innocently kicked a fish head into the Boss's yukata. He turned to the remains of the stall and scrutinized it with everybody else.

Indeed, a forgotten wad of bills laid for all eyes to see on the somewhat clean spot of the table.

"Oh." A surprised gasp escaped from the background characters present.

Somei took on a power ranger's stance in the background and made a victory sign with his right hand. So before becoming a samurai, he had been a ninja, Soma mused, not jealously clenching his hands at all. He totally did not raise his hands to the grey ceiling and cursed the dark tiles and his sire for his powerless state. Akira had his nose, Isshiki had money, Somei had his ninja skillz and he had… a cranky foodie. A very powerful, but ancient foodie. That was not a personal ability. Like damn world, couldn't somebody give Yukihira Soma, poor Sidekick, some sort of superpowers? Apparently, nope.

Soma sighed. Fate was a cruel mistress. He would just have to serve one of his awesome mixes to make Her more agreeable to his destiny. The sparks coming from the Boss cut scene brought him back to reality.

The tall sushi master stroked his beard. "It could be anybody's money."

Somei's mother smiled lightly. She patted her briefcase. Soma glanced at it and immediately labeled it as a knives briefcase. Sturdier than most and deadlier too. "Are you saying I might not be telling the truth, sir."

The hidden Boss let go of beard. He petted the big ass sword attached to his back. "I believe the truth to be different from yours, yes."

Madam sighed dramatically. A maniacal light smile lit up her wrinkled eyes. "This matter can only be resolved by a -"

"Cutting contest!" Somei screamed, hands high in the air. He completed his new power ranger's stance with a back flip. Soma snorted. Show off. His scream attracted attention. Heads rose, ears were strained and people shamelessly became onlookers.

The boy's mother did not face palm, though Soma noticed her right eye twitched ever so slightly. "Yes, dear." She chimed in gently.

"My mom's totally gonna win." Said the fanboy, arms crossed and arrogantly starring at the hidden Boss. Soma strolled back to his friends. They had a show to watch.

Sellers and buyers rose from the dead or from their hiding places to flock around the improvised stage.

"The contest is going to start!"

"Who is the best fish cutter?"

A wizened man lit his pipe and took a deep breath. The smoke danced in the air as the waves on the sea. "We're talking about Sasuka-san here. He is unbeatable."

Another old salt blew smoke toward his smoking companion. He glanced pointedly at her briefcase and scarred hands. "His adversary seems to know how to handle a knife."

Another onlooker, this one without a pipe and thus a million times less credible, snorted. "Any human with any self-respect and skills should be able to handle a knife."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Soma saw Somei whispering into a big mouthed seller's ear. The seller was bent in weird angle to be at the right height to hear the young samurai. When Somei stopped acting all discreet and straightened up, the seller offered a grin and a thumb up.

He straightened up too and strolled to join the band of busybodies. "Saito-san. This is Saito-san. She works in a sushi shop on the riverside. Her technique is pretty good."

"Sasuka-san has the emo power on his side."

Somei's agent did not back down. A professional busybody, he was. "Somei-san was formed in the mountains of Hokkaido by a great sushi master!"

"Why would a great sushi master works in the mountains?"

Somei's agent paused. This time, he was not as sure of what he should say. Another voice chimed, saving Somei-san's face. "Maybe he only works on fresh water fishes."

Somei's agent nodded with ardor and jumped on that idea. "Sushi masters are weird, fragile creatures, okay. We shouldn't judge them too harshly." Somei's agent offered, palms facing the sky in a poor attempt to grasp the unexplainable.

People still nodded their head as if what he said made sense. Soma was insulted in behalf of the sushi master. Cooks were not weird. Except Nakiri's family and their urge to get naked every time something yummy entered their mouth.

"That's not a good reason!" Someone screamed, the one reasonable voice in the surrounding madness.

"Shut up, Steven." Somei's agent didn't even look at the dude he shot down, basking in his pyrrhic victory.

Poor dude. Soma shook his head and booed the reasonable voice. It wasn't nice to bully such a man with reasons and other weird things. He already had to trudge around with a heavy milestone around his neck. His name was _Steven_.

Akira tugged his hand. "I'm going to find a good spot. Wanna come?"

"No, somebody has to look over that guy." By that guy, Soma meant no other than Somei. The little dude was hyperactive, running all over the place, yelling banners with his mother's name on it. It was kind of endearing. He was so going to take photos of that good blackmail material.

"Okay." Akira shrugged and jumped on the mountain of junks. He climbed like a monkey. He found a good spot high in the air. He somehow found a way to sit on a neon light that moved gently with his legs' back and forth rocking.

As for Isshiki, that rich young master was calmly sitting on a man's shoulders. His human chair was stylishly dressed (among the heathens that wore yellow parka every day, his black suit looked damn fine). The organic chair slowly dragged his thumb horizontally over the skin of his neck while starring fixedly at Soma. The stylish man had to be one of Isshiki's family servants then. For some reasons, they didn't like him much. Maybe his old man had served him one of his weird combinations. It was totally not Soma's fault.

They couldn't blame him for his hand in helping Isshiki discover his true nature, right?

Anyway.

Soma answered with a cheery smile and a thumb down.

The stylish chair sucked air between his teeth as he glared at the crayfish-haired boy he so wanted to cut open. _Happy thought, happy thought._ The young Master would need to eat something substantial after such a long day in Tsukiji. Hotpot would be a nice final touch to the day. Without the boy that soiled his Young Master's brilliance, of course.

Soma casually waltzed over fishes corpses, hand covering his nose. "Hey, Isshiki, wanna eat sushi after they're done. I know a good place."

The organic chair frowned. No. No. No. His precious time with the Young Master was not going to be cut off by the savage that was leading him on the road to perdition. His Young Master leaned forwards until all he could smell was perfection and lemongrass.

"Sure." Everybody's Young Master nodded.

Soma breathed through his mouth. He nodded. "I'm gonna find a good spot to watch this stuff. See y'all later."

The servant that had turned into a chair cursed the red-haired boy to die a horrible death by slipping on fish's gut and then ending his life on a shark fin. His precious time with the Young Master was gone, just like that…

The young master chose that precise moment to pat his head _fondly_. "Straighten your shoulders. I can't see well."

The servant felt his heart melt and form a puddle at his feet. Patted his head! The Young Master had touched, no, petted him! What a wonderfully glorious day!

Some wondered through the market, eyes trained on his target (aka Somei), and hand secured over his nose. In the end, he covered his nose with his T-shirt and determined than his own pre-pubescent sweat smelled better than the Hell that surrounded him.

Finally, they returned to the makeshift stage where the contest was held. Madam was a judge (nobody had the ability to say no to her). Fishes were chosen, knives were sharpened and bets were made.

"Who will bet for the unbeatable Sasuka-sama, sushi master? Who will bet for Somei-san, sushi chef?"

Soma held Somei down before the ninja boy had a chance to escape to another place nearer to the stage. Soma gripped him by his boxers unapologetically. They approached the bookman, one walking calmly while the other was doing his best not to wail too much.

"How are the odds?" Soma asked, free hand already fishing for dad's wallet in his pocket. The poor man had left him his wallet, telling him to buy if he found anything of good quality that they could realistically use in their shop.

"I'm afraid people believe more in Sushi-sama than in Somei-san, my boy." The bookman answered honestly.

Young Somei gasped and clutched his heart. "How dare they!"

Soma cackled. He counted what he had and poured the content of his father's wallet in the bag. "I bet on her."

The bookmakers whistled. "You sure have guts. That's a lot of money for a little guy like you."

Soma smiled. It wasn't his money, so whatever.

Besides, he trusted Somei Mom. If she were to fail, he could blame her and her son's persuasion that had led him to the dark path of gambling.

Isshiki, a distance away and still comfortable on his organic chair, hummed. He kicked his minion in the chest. "Bet 50 000 yen on her."

"Young Master!"

Isshiki's smile disappeared into a thin line. "100 000 yen."

"Yes, Young Master!"

"It's starting!" Somei screamed. His high-pitched voice attracted everybody's attention. They all looked towards the stage. Voices were hushed. Mouths were slapped close by people.

Madam elegantly raised a bloody handkerchief high in the air. On both of her sides, the two chefs were ready for battle, weapons gleaming under the cold, metallic light. One looked frail while the other looked comically big for such a small stage.

"Go!" Madam let go of her handkerchief. Before it ended its short fall, the cooks had already started.

Beams and flashes lit the stage. Knifes slit open bodies, navigated around guts and entrails, cut fat and brought clean treasures to light.

People gulped saliva. Soma tried very hard not to pluck his nose. The ventilation in the market was pretty good, but there's much they could do against the corpses of a hundred fishes carelessly left to rot and reek on the ground. He breathed in through his mouth. Ugh. It didn't help.

He tried to concentrate on the show, but the smell just made him want to throw up.

He closed his eyes and covered his nose with his T-shirt again like the weak person he was.

Somei's excited shouts told him his mother was winning long before a random referee that was apparently an old sea dog that had seen a many cutting competition raised her hand high in the air and bestowed her the tuna they'd eyed for a good part of the morning.

The Boss had been defeated. He was currently starring helplessly at his wrinkly and trembling hands, lost in his own world. Madam good naturedly slapped his shoulders and told him to hold his tears in until he was alone. Soma hummed a jolly song. Life was so good when people fought his battles for him. He only had to cheer on them a bit and voilà, he had what he wanted.

Somei's mom nimbly jumped from the stage. From the little sample he had seen of her cooking, Soma could understand where Somei got his ninja skills. It was a pity he didn't develop his cooking style in that direction. Soma could hear the publicity for him: the Ninja chef, the never seen Japanese chef who could chop fishes better than anybody else and make it delicious in a jiffy. It had a nice ring to it. Alas, Somei was a bit too flashy with his big sword and bushido kind of lifestyle.

Soma had a terrible, evil thought as the bookman made his way toward him and Isshiki. He could, maybe, like, show Somei that being a ninja was way cooler and funnier than being a samurai. He could picture all the pranks they could pull and oh man, it was beautiful.

"Here's your share, little man. You placed the right bet, after all." The bookman handed him the money happily. He had the habit of being happy when someone got a good amount back. Why show a long face when money brought bread and sweet butter on the table?

Soma counted his bills, tongue between his teeth. So much money and it was all his-, well no. It technically belonged to his old man, but the younger Yukihira was the one who was bold enough to gamble.

Isshiki received his win too. He carelessly handed a bill to his minion. "Well, today was profitable. Here is your share. I believe you do not have to tell my parents my every move."

"Young master..." The minion looked so touched, with his hand plastered on his chest, over his heart. Soma felt sympathetic; his parents mustn't have given him much allowance when he was young. His dad, the penny-pinching man, didn't either. Soma was so taking a percentage on his win. He was the one who betted. He had to get, at least, like, 15% maybe?

His dad's knuckles found that moment to lovingly meet his skull. Joichirou used the ninjutsu art of sneaking up on people. It would have been awesome if he hadn't been a Dad. 'Dad power' lessened his coolness by over 9000 for any children over 7. "Who permitted you to gamble?"

Soma whimpered and bounced away. He massaged his poor skull. A hiss escaped his grimacing lips. "Dad!" He waved his hand full of bills, smirking through the pain. "We won!" Better to get his attention focused on something else than the fact that he apparently needed to beat up his own progeny.

"No. I won." The older Yukihira was not in favor of communism. He slapped the wad bills out of Soma's hands and counted them professionally.

"But I was the one who betted." Soma whined as he skillfully avoided another rough meeting with his dad's coarse and not pretty at all knuckles.

"With my money, without my permission." Joichirou said, putting the money away.

And that's how Soma never saw that money again.

* * *

Some minutes of bickering later, they all found themselves in a place that was rotten fish scent free. That was Somei's sushi shop. It was a tiny thing clasped between a ramen place and a clothing store that seemed to be at odd. They had advertisement explaining that the other shop had terrible price and horrible taste.

Somei's shop looked like a corner of paradise in a world of war. Soma sipped his tea and sighed. So good. So peaceful.

Issihki was being fed sushis by his servant. The big Young Master only had to open his mouth to be served. Akira was sniffing around the spices rack, looking very close to attaining nirvana. Baby Somei was helping Mom Somei. Dad Yukihira was chatting with Mom Somei about the best knife blacksmiths in Japan. Madam, who had for some reason tagged along for their afternoon tea and sushis, was nibbling on a treat.

Soma had the very distinct sinking feeling that Somei's shop would soon be flooded by a certain Granny Gang, given the way she was typing texts on her old flip phone.

He stared at Somei, his whining baby samurai. Time to woo him to his side. Alas, he couldn't just kidnap him. Soma had a young and not at all strong enough body to kidnap his samurai senpai. The crimson-haired boy eyed him. He could probably put him on his shoulders if he tried hard, but he would falter after the second or third step. Pity.

"So, Somei, what's your favorite knife?" He asked when Somei refilled his cup of tea.

Somei's eyes lit up. The next second, he was talking so rapidly Soma understood nothing. The next minute, he was sitting next to Soma. Soma's wooing talk included fishes and the art of cutting. His interlocutor was enamored with him. 10 minutes later, Somei would have proudly declared himself a friend of Soma's. Cooks that liked fish could only be good people.

Soma smirked.

Isshiki had his fill of sushis and gave the rest of his order to his minion. His servant's soul escaped from his body and hovered over the table. Soma slapped it away.

Akira left the spices rack to settle down on Soma's knees. Soma held the bony boy in place and sat back with a sigh. The small chefs talked and bickered.

Soma suddenly found the hectic pace very tiring. Getting out of bed at an unholy hour to buy fish was not worth it. He could begrudgingly admit to himself that waking up earlier than chickens to find his samurai senpai had, however, been worth it. The hilarity was a bonus.

Soma finished his tea and sighed contentedly.

"I tell you, cutting is the very essence of cooking." Somei expertly played with his knife to prove his point. He liked showing off, Soma realized.

And he had found himself an energetic fish buyer. No more need to wake up and feel like dying. Yeh.

Akira caught Somei's knife and collectedly put it down like the good boy he was. He moved on Soma's knees and found a better position. He was now lying on top of him, feet kicking the air to a secret rhythm. "Spices are."

"Ahhhhhhhh. Wanna fight, chocolate boy?"

Isshiki interjected with a happy hum that told Soma he was troubles. "For one, I believe spices are just a component of cooking. Cutting is the same." Isshiki was gleefully pouring oil on a kitchen's fire. Of course, it exploded in his face.

"What did you say." There was the future samurai in all of his glory. His eyes glinted sharply.

"Isshiki, do not make me stab you." Akira's shopped words were plain and to the point. Such a lovely boy.

Soma's eyelids closed on their own. Wait young body, I, this wonderful chef, wanna see them have a kitchen fight-

A slam resounded in the diner.

Three heads stopped their heated starring contest to turn.

Akira wiggled on Soma and poked the red-haired boy's cheek. "He is not dead. Just sleeping."

Isshiki put his jacket under Soma's head. He ruffled the boy's hair in passing. The two other boys narrowed their eyes and ruffled his hair too when he was done. Isshiki cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. The sound resounded ominously to his ears in their tiny corner of the tiny shop. "So, my good friends. What we were talking about?"

Somei pointed at Akira. "He said he was going to stab you."

Isshiki smiled. "Nice."

The flower of Friendship bloomed that evening.

* * *

 **Announcement**! Schedule is on my profile page. ** _Big Announcement!_** This fic has now more than 100 favs! Yeah for us! ** _End_ _of Announcements!_**

This author is asking her readers who they want to see next. So, who's next?

 ** _The secret stash y'all need_**

Thumb down: highly offensive for Japanese people. It means 'go to hell'. The more you know…

20-10-2018


	9. Interlude

**~Interlude~**

[+125 exp]

Tsukasa put down his knife with a sigh. Empty eyes starred at him accusingly. The boy felt nauseous as he poked the fish's head to move slightly and to not see its glassy orbs. He had to cook another of those monsters.

He opened his game's menu. He glanced at his blinking mission status. Wonderful. He was still miles away from perfectly fileting 300 tunas.

300 tunas. 300. Ugh. Tsukasa poked the head harder.

Soles would have been easier, he lamented inwardly. He could have made 'sole meunière' everyday without his parents suspecting anything. They would have praised his attention for details (and his obsession with French cuisine). Alas, he was stuck with tunas.

A tiny white porcelain bowl appeared on the side of the screen. Two small black eyes and a red mouth decorated it. A blush appeared on its face when it noticed Tsukasa looking at it. [The quality of the tuna is deteriorating rapidly. Humbly asking the Gamer to cook it into something yummy!]

Steaming rice appeared in the bowl as it acted cute. It bounced around the screen, erratically waving small red flags with moving tunas on them.

Tsukasa made a face at the red fishes and looked away.

He eyed the mission's status and his horrified smile became more fixed than ever on his tired-of-fishes-and-life-in-general face. He was gaining a bit of experience with each fish, even with his failures, but it didn't change the fact he was a hundred behind schedule. And he couldn't just ransack a fish shop for all the tunas he needed to cut open. Furthermore, his parents and he were getting sick of eating tunas.

Stupid main mission. He couldn't accept any other main missions until he was done with the impossible of tunas he had to cut perfectly.

Tsukasa closed his gamer's app before depression overtook him for real. The bowl was still bouncing around and screaming about fighting to the death. The boy astutely ignored him and mechanically cleaned his knife.

He reasoned with himself silently as he wrung a tablecloth around his knife. There was a special place in hell for cooks who wasted food. He had to trudge forwards slowly every day. If he had a fish shop like Alice Nakiri's minion, it wouldn't be the same. However, he didn't. Showing up there wouldn't a good idea either. Tsukasa hadn't known the boy or his story. He hadn't thought about asking back then. He didn't know when the switch-on/off chef started or stopped working there.

And if people asked why he was so fixated on tunas, Tsukasa was not sure how he was going to weasel his way out of people's interest. Smile weirdly and proclaim his love for them? That sounded like something Yukihira Soma would do. Tsukasa was, unfortunately, not as good as him with people.

The French obsessed teen sighed mournfully. Yukihira Soma charmed his way through school and life. He had had more friends than he had fingers to count.

(Tsukasa had forgotten about the tiny-winy fact that Soma was universally hated. The exception being his father and his band of cooking weirdos.)

Tsukasa sat down and rested his chin against his knuckles. He let daydreams of butter and olive oil take him far away from his cold kitchen and the tuna he was now supposed to take care of. Yukihira Soma would have surely done some amazing things with the Gamer's template. Things Tsukasa couldn't even beginning to grasp.

He had to be ready for him. He would enter Totsuki in middle school, take the first seat and prepare his team for the Yukihira joker. Before school, he needed to grind as much as possible. On the first round, he had neglected several advantages like Luck. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He had to be balanced, as all things should be.

He had to compete with a wild card. He had to compete with the man who all along proclaimed squid and peanut butter was a good combination and proved it in the end.

Tsukasa looked at his reflected self in the smooth steel of his knife. A crooked smile appeared on it, not unlike a certain jester's. What a wonderful challenge it would be to tame him.

Tsukasa would be better than him, had to, be it in the wilderness or in the garden he had tried to construct. He would prove he wasn't completely wrong. A garden with high walls to protect the hearts of chefs and an iron fence to weed out the strong from the weak was not a bad idea in itself.

(Somewhere in North Italy, a little boy sneezed. He rubbed his nose, frowning. He felt like someone was stealing something important from him. His brother stopped practicing with their mezzaluna to hand him his embroiled handkerchief.)

His bowl became agitated once more. [Gamer-sama! Gamer-sama! Gamer-sama! Gamer-]

Tsukasa looked up absently. "What is it?"

The bowl of cuteness bounced around. Tsukasa held at bay the urge to hold it and put on a table. He knew from experience his hands would touch nothingness.

"I noticed Gamer-sama hasn't opened his messages ** _~._** Do you want your cute assistant to delete them?" The bowl asked cutely.

"My messages?" Tsukasa echoed.

"Gamer-sama has a messaging app in his template. Did Gamer-sama not know? Eto, maybe I forgot to tell you, lol! Forgive me, Gamer-sama!" The bowl made a strange bow, rice still inside as it rolled around.

Tsukasa pursued his lips and decided to not chastise his bowl of stupidity. It wasn't the first time it forgot to tell him something important about the Gamer's abilities. He completely ignored its fake lisp, high-pitched voice and 'lol' (whatever that meant). His bowl acted the way it wanted to and no matter how many times Tsukasa asked it to talk in way he could understand, it never did. It liked acting mysteriously.

"Gamer-sama, I'll help you open them. B-U-T, just this time!" The bowl pouted, as if Tsukasa was somehow at fault for his unawareness of the Gamer's abilities. It was the one that was supposed to guide Tsukasa.

The Gamer app opened instantly. The bowl bounced to a darker lettering just above his mission status that indeed spelled 'messages'. It clicked on it.

No less than 15 messages awaited Tsukasa.

"Who messaged me?" Tsukasa asked. Who, indeed. Maybe the Gamer's moderator? Who else knew about the Gamer beside that man? Was there another Gamer now?

"Your Sidekick!" The bowl claimed, tiny red flags appearing and waving around him.

"What is that?"

"Your most beloved person!" Tiny hearts appeared on its flags.

Tsukasa squinted. The bowl was saying mysterious things again. Better investigate himself. He swapped his guide away from the screen. The thing went away with a shriek.

Tsukasa clicked on the first message in front of him. It dated back to a few days. There were no words. Just a photo of a padded paddle laying on a mini tennis table.

Tsukasa frowned. He opened all the messages. All of them were random photographs.

He scrolled through them. Or rather, if he wanted to be more specific, he tried to scroll. Each of them made him stop. His normally quite subdued face twitched and twisted in horror or wonder.

A box of chocolate, seemingly forgotten on a table floating on shining water. They looked like they would melt on his tongue and show him a world of wonders. Basically, they looked _just_ right.

A steaming vegetable curry. Tsukasa could _smell_ the wonderful spices.

The shadows of two boys fighting their way into a kitchen.

A frail old lady standing in front of a nuclear mushroom.

Sashimis gleaming under cold, metallic light, accompanied by a small soya sauce pan.

The last photo, the oldest photo he received, had no texts whatsoever nor explanations. It still made Tsukasa pause and think.

Squid dipped in peanut butter. The worst possible combination to his ears, yet... it had won against him a universe away.

Who? Erina Nakiri, God's tongue? Or _him_ , the jester that braved the wilderness of the cooking world? Or someone who knew his trademark genius vomit inducing dish?

Tsukasa looked up. The head of the tuna he had cut open still starred him. The boy smiled. His hand searched for his knife. He knew what he wanted to do with it. A wickedly good soup was calling his soul, singing songs of wonder and foodgasms. He would take a photo of it and send it to that wicked person.

He had not gained any points today. He had gained nothing, except a silent Sidekick with a twisted sense of humor.

What a fruitful day.

* * *

Short and sweet, exactly unlike Tsukasa.

*Tries to act cute like Bowl and doesn't succeed.* Y'all gotta reviews to tell the shameless person writing this story which character you wanna see next!

I have a feeling Soma and Bowl would complete each other.

(By the way, this is not a Tsukasa X Soma story, for those wondering. And this is the first chapter I don't torture myself and you, dear readers, with many hair adjectives.)


	10. A Bite, A Tease

Soma threw his head back and let a healing scream out. "Finally! Sweet light at the end of the tunnel! We have arrived!"

"The ride wasn't that long, Soma." His father chided as he nodded goodbye at the bus driver.

Akira offered a bow and a thank you, polite animal that he was, before skipping off from their mean of travel.

The driver dipped his head and closed the door to his kingdom. The engine revved and off the hellish machine went, to Soma's relief and happiness. Begone, fool metal beast!

Soma bounced around to face his sire's placid face. His numb legs crumpled under him and he finished his jump on his knees, doing an action anime pause to stay upright. "Shuuuuuuuuuuuuuut up." His yell hid all the pain he felt coming from his uncovered knees against hot concrete. "It so was."

"Let's go." His father shook his head, exasperated.

Soma wanted to chide him; Dad, you're way too old to act like a teenager. 'Rolling Eyes' was a powerful weapon for teenagers only. On other people, especially older, it just looked plain stupid. They did not have the awkward angle or the right flair for it. Soma, being a teenager inside a tiny body, had a special permission to use it freely. Given by Yukihira Soma to Yukihira Soma, of course.

He could also use the 'I'm-so-done-with-you' ™, normally reserved for adults. After all, he was almost an adult if one counted the years he spent on Earth, cooking delicious dishes and scaring poor souls. His old teachers loved to use it when he was present at school. For some reasons, they would often do it while facing his vicinity.

At one point, Soma had thought his teachers were all mediums who could see ghosts. Now, he knew they just couldn't voice how awesome they though he was, so they obligated their face to morph into a mask of annoyance at their own non-awesomess ways. They were tough peeps alright.

Akira, sweet and sour little ray of sunshine that he was, was adjusting the straps of his bag on his shoulders. He was indeed using the adult trademark Soma had claimed ownership over, but it was okay. Akira had a special permission to use that one given to him by Yuhikira Soma. He won that privilege after one too many horrible decoctions put under his nose by his mischievous brother and mad scientist father.

The adult-but-not-chef fabricated a contract for him that they had both signed after Soma had nagged him for a day or two. The contract was exceptionally good-looking; it had flowery characters and gilded contour. It had been a fun afternoon of craft for sure. There was a sort of smudge on the top left corner though. However, if Soma was honest, and he had been with his brosido, it really just was him trying it out in modern art and discovering he was awesome in that subject too.

Akira had proudly showcased his newfound and Soma's approved frown at that comment.

Soma crawled from the ground to his bro's side. He climbed his bronze legs, nimbly avoided a shift of leg that could have been a kick if Akira weren't just the best human in the world, and patted his bro's shoulders enthusiastically. "You think like me, right! The ride was way too long. Seeing his face," Soma pointed his ugly father's mug with a snarl, "did not help at all."

Akira mutely took their father's offered hand.

The duo left the first son in the dust.

The older Yukihira might have sent his biological son a triumphant grin and smugly arched eyebrow.

They were currently competing in a game. A very difficult game with high stakes and high risks. The Game, for it had no name yet, was simple. They had to do everything in their power to make sure Akira liked one more than the other. All of that in the hope that he wouldn't one day decide that, really, his adopted family was too weird for his tastes and leave. It might have something to do with easing him in their little cooking circus they called a family, but, well, Soma and Joichiro were not that sappy.

They just really liked to compete. That's all.

Soma bounced on his father's heels, arms acting as makeshift noodles of joy. "Ryokan time!"

The older Yukihira walked faster, firmly dragging his newest son. If anybody asked, he would answer that this red-haired devil of a child that waltzed in the middle of the street was certainly not his offspring. He hadn't raised his son that badly. Then he would point Yukihira Akira and puff his chest, because what a well-behaved and knowledgeable child he had raised all by himself! He was so, so proud.

The three idiots trudged through the small city by the sea. Nobody really knew how it obtained its status as a city, seeing the small number of people who populated it and the small size of the town. It was a little spot between the mountains and the sea, stranded there and still living through time by some miracles. Soma had never been in such a remote place in Japan before (his time in Totsuki did not count anymore. Things that hadn't happened in this new reality couldn't count.).

After 10 minutes of rather intensive walking that turned into half-jogging at some point, they found themselves in front of a venerable ryokan, standing on a rolling hill, windows facing the sea. Soma breathed in the salty air and smiled.

It looked cozy. It resembled Tadokori's chopped comments about her home. It looked like her. Warm and tranquil. He wondered if he would find a hidden treasure somewhere in there. It didn't need to be there. He would be content to simply catch a young girl with long black hair and a fiery love for ping pong in his net.

Speaking of ping pong...! Soma threw his bag on the ground.

Akira tugged Joichirou's hand once, ringing a alarm bell. His brother was acting weird, well, weirder than usual. The elder man answered the call dutifully. They stopped to observe the crimson-haired boy who was snickering madly.

"Wait for him." Akira ordered and so that's what they did. Joichirou held his new son's hand happily, because, honestly, that one was way cuter and more obedient than the one who was ransacking his bag like a madman, knees on the ground.

Mentioned madchild opened the zipper of his bag hastily and rummaged in it until he found what he wanted. Under comfy underwears and nice little white socks he could wear with his sandals to spook people's good fashion taste, his hands caressed plastic and hard wood. A snicker left his chest. He needed to test his skills against hers! And win. Or die trying.

Winning would definitely be better an outcome, though.

Joichirou tugged Akira forwards. "Let's go. He's good."

The elder Yukihira did not comment about the fact that people were not so subtly stopping in the middle of the not frequented road to observe Soma's antics.

The duo went inside while Soma righted his shoulders and put his bag under his arm, ping pong paddle pressing against him and keeping the gaping bag somewhat upright. He was going to have so much fun. The sea! Tadokoro! Akira! Cooking! Bothering his old man! All at the same! Place!

It was a shame that Somei and Isshiki couldn't tag along, but Soma still counted his blessings. Plus, they might have frightened the sweet girl with their weird habits. It wasn't everybody that could deal with Isshiki's way of going around life. He used complicated honorifics with every people he met and their mother. And the bows. The bows never ended.

Isshiki was lucky that Soma liked him to bits. He had only thrown a knife at him ONCE after he had called him 'Soma-san' one too many times.

Soma shuddered. 'Soma-san', coupled with Isshiki's gleaming teeth, became the materials for realistic nightmares.

The fish enthusiast little chef was... okay, when he wasn't overly fanboying over his mother's sushis and overall perfection. Soma thought he had seen the boy not talking or thinking about his mother at least twice. Both times, it lasted a few seconds, probably.

...yeah.

The youngest Yukihira couldn't understand that, but he could respect the intensity of it. That explained the way older, scarred, bushido-is-the-way Somei would behave later. He invested himself wholly in things he believed in. Right now, his mother was the person that shouldered his sky, mind and kitchen. He ought to find new things that could expand his cooking horizon. It wasn't an urgent matter, though.

Soma had a few things he could give to his fishie friend to slowly unravel his cooking powers. Peanut butter and fish sounded devilishly unacceptable to mortal ears.

Soma gripped his pingpong bat. Time to test his skillz and win. He lifted his bag and bounced through the open door.

"I defy you, Tadokoro!"


End file.
